Are You a Posse Girl? Or, Do You Fly Solo?
I love my girlfriends.
Correction.
Girlfriend.
Single. Not plural.
I have never been a group girl, a member of a posse. I don’t know why. It wasn’t by design. In fact, I’m rather solitary by nature and don’t hobnob that much at all, which I suppose could be some kind of innate recluse issue that was genetically passed on to me, along with the god-awful frowsy hair and propensity to drink a lot of beer and spew four letter words with abandon.
I am fascinated by women who run in groups and also a little bit … horrified as in … why would you WANT to do THAT? I don’t get it but that’s my concern.
“The TEN of us went shopping.” “The EIGHT of us spent a week on the beach in Florida.” “The FIVE of us got drunker than loons in Vegas.”
Really? Hmmm.
Let me think on that.
I am not criticizing. I realize that I am the oddball here, the crazy old aunt or neighbor who sits in her house and weaves and writes and paints and plants things, talks to dogs and 11-month-old babies and takes too many naps. I don’t have a crew, an assemblage. If it weren’t for my husband and my dogs I could probably be dead for a fortnight before anyone would notice. Okay, that’s a stretch but …
… I’m coming from the perspective that spending five days with five women anywhere would be akin to … well, not something pleasant for me. And, that’s my ‘bad’ as the kids would say. It is no reflection on the other five.
I have a life-long friend, who is in the thick of a group of country club women. The golf set. I hate golf. She is the cutest thing going and always has been. At a party, she showed up in the most god-awful ensemble. I couldn’t stop staring. She looked like some middle-aged something or other who was decked out to play golf on a Scottish golf course. She wore knee length plaid shorts that even Shakira could not have successfully pulled off. Now, keep in mind, she has an excellent body… for a 57 year old woman.
The person I was sitting with, a man, in fact, said, “What in the hell is she wearing?”
She later came over to our table and he asked, point blank. She said that her ‘friends,’ that would be the country club set, told her that she needed to wear “more appropriate” clothing. I threw my head back in gales of laughter. Sabotaged by ones “best” friends. The guy said, “Good, God, put on your regular clothes. You look awful.” And she did. Awful and ridiculous.
I thought, how revolting and typical that a group of green-eyed 50-something women would tell the one cute one in the bunch, who could still wear revealing shorts and turn some heads, that she was dressing inappropriately.
And, worse yet, she did as they instructed and ended up looking like … well, if I knew the name of some 65-year-old dorky male golfer I would use it!
My friend, my soul mate, is as reclusive, eccentric and kooky as I am. We’re not Rat Packers or members of any other pack. That suits us just fine, oddballs that we are. Some would say that inappropriate is our middle name. I like her bizarre clothing and she likes mine.
I will leave the herd, the posse, the group, to someone else.
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Cindi~
I am a solo girl, too. I am perfectly happy and content by myself or with one or two girlfriends at the MOST. Once, I spent the day out by myself wandering and window shopping. I took myself out to lunch where I sat outside people-watching while I ate. When I told a “friend” of mine how I spent the day, she said, “Oh, that’s so sad!” I thought it was an AWESOME day. I used to have a “posse” of “friends” but the infighting and high school behavior ultimately alienated me and one other woman who was and still is a lifer friend. And that’s perfectly fine with me. Great article.