2001-12-13 || 3:59 p.m.

|| getting saucy with the work ladies. oh i love my work ladies. ||

oh my goodness. oh my. today was the special holiday lunch for the work ladies. we stuffed into three cars and drove to the marina, to the swankycheesy restaurant hs lordships.

oh my. we are dressed in red and green and black. there is a lot of velour going on. there is a lot of lipstick on teeth and curled hair. there are seventeen of us (three are men. so it is not work ladies proper, but you know.) at one long table. there are several other tables full of people we don't know. the restaurant was chosen because it's 'classy,' according to a few of the more sophisticated work ladies. the restaurant was chosen for the buffet. a band is playing. there is meat and rice pilaf and steamed vegetables in large silver trays. crab legs and crawdads and peel and eat shrimp. three tiers of desserts at a table toward the middle of the hall. bottomless cups of coffee and soda. the work ladies get at least two plates a piece, piled high with steamy things. they are sucking on crawdads. they are crazy about the fish in white sauce. norma yells at me for not eating the pot roast. food is consumed and plates are dutifully cleared away and the work ladies begin to hover around the dessert area. they pinch and prod innocent bystanders and crowd the german chocolate cake. they return to the table with several pieces stockpiled on their plates (average number of cake slices per work lady: 2.7.). one eats chocolate mousse and pecan pie and then returns to the buffet for more of the fish in white sauce. a few work ladies escape to the bar downstairs. they return with daiquiris and margaritas. the work ladies only drink daiquiris and margaritas. we are getting rowdy. kay has developed the hots for the bass player/singer of the band. she has named him 'hollywood' and yells for him after each song. the daiquiris are working their magic and kay, my most beloved work lady, my workmom, the most outrageous of the bunch, decides she wants to dance. she saunters past the sides of meat, the island of desserts, the table of plumbers still in their dirty work clothes, and starts dancing in front of the stage. phyllis goes over to take pictures and i mistake her for going to dance. i get up to dance. i run over to kay and by this time three or four other work ladies have decided to dance too. no one else at this buffet is dancing. no one else is yelling across the banquet hall to get their asses on the dance floor. the band is playing 'respect.' we are dancing in circles, bumping hips, and wow can those work ladies dance. they dance dirty. we are shouting and clapping and we throw our arms up at the r-e-s-p-e-c-t parts. the band loves us. the rest of the diners aren't quite sure what to make of us. the other work ladies, the more reserved ones, are clapping their hands back at our table, standing on tip toes to watch kay do the hustle and make eyes at the bass player. the song ends and five or six of us all hug a huge sweaty perfumey group hug on the dance floor.

we get a standing ovation. norma says i have soul. this means a lot because norma is one hell of a dancer. kay says i was the pearl on the dance floor (read: lone white girl).

it was the best fucking work lunch i have ever had.

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