The Club

Okay, I'm not sure what I think of my parents joining the country club. We had dinner there tonight in honor of my getting the hell out of town Sunday, and the service was atrocious. The escargot was overcooked and therefore chewy. Our entrees were good, though, and the bartender was impressive (he remembered that Dad likes his scotch & water on the rocks, but even more than that, he started mixing cocktails for a group of 4 regulars as soon as they walked in the door, before they even stopped to say hi to another table).

I guess it's that I don't believe my parents are country club people. Sure, Dad likes his golf, and that's a big part of why he applied, but they don't need more stuff to do and people to meet. They are so busy already. And it's not like Mom's going to join a bridge group and hang out in the women's lounge drinking iced teas all afternoon playing cards. Of course, Mom's always been a bit anti-establishment which may be why I cannot picture her dining twice a month in a room where they require the men in coats and ties after 6pm. Eating there tonight felt like I'd gone back in time and a few states to the south; it was very old world south, old money, etc. When Allison gave me the tour last week, I immediately related it to "Cigars and brandies" after dinner in the movie Titanic. My place setting included a total of 3 spoons, 3 forks, and 2 knives on a leather place mat with the club logo imbedded on it. I had a hard time maintaining my posture, and we were only there for 2 hours.

I couldn't help but feel it was a lot like a fraternity, and maybe that's why I didn't feel comfortable there. I remember the pseudo-sorority we made up at Richmond, Eta Mu Pi, and the theme song Laura, Jenny & I wrote about how we could be friends for free and it didn't matter what clothes we wore or how high "Daddy's credit line" was. I love my parents very much, and they already have a very interesting and diverse group of friends, so why do they want to pay to be in this exclusive club where, I'm sorry, but, everyone looks the same? And, ironically, Dad still calls it "The Club" in a mocking 4 syllable pronunciation (much like we used to refer to Norfolk Academy as "The Academy" and stick our noses up as high as we could).

But damn, those fried oysters were amazing.

/me steps down off her soapbox.