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Posts Tagged ‘girls’ day out’

The other day I found myself star-jumping off the wagon, wearing heels and a fascinator that made me look half-bird, half-showgirl. Yes, folks, it was another day at the races for this party girl.

For the record, I had a great afternoon, which is pretty much guaranteed when you’re with eight friends, all dressed up to the nines, drinking champagne with a straw and even winning some money on the horses. (At one point, I won $7.60. Yes, $7.60. I swaggered up to the TAB counter and announced “I’m a winner, baby! Let the one dollar coins roll…..”)

There was only one disappointment. A minor thing, really, but in my slightly drunken state, it became the sole focus of my very being. You see,  there didn’t seem to be any Rich Gentleman willing to buy us rounds of drinks.

When I confided my disappointment to one friend, she was appalled. “What? Are you willing to put out or something? Drinks from gentleman of any financial status come at a price.”

“Of course I’m not willing to ‘put out’,” I replied. “Nobody would have to ‘put out’. These gentlemen will buy us alcohol for the pure pleasure of watching a group of beautiful, well-dressed women get really really piss-faced and then fall over their own high heels trying to dance the Macarena for no good reason at all. What other reward could they possibly need?”

I might have continued, except I dropped my betting slips, and, in bending down to retrieve it, got the man in the seat in front of me  square in the eye with my fascinator.

“Sorry! So sorry!” I said, before throwing in a hasty “Are-you-rich?”

Apparently he wasn’t rich. At least that’s what he said before he took himself off to sick bay with his eye injury.

Anyway, I decided the group-thing was cramping my style so I took to standing at the bar by myself. If I smiled at a Rich Gentleman and he smiled back, surely that would get me a drink? Of course, I couldn’t just smile at everyone at the bar, in case I got picked up for soliciting in the Members’ Area. But then again, I couldn’t exactly tell who was rich and who wasn’t. I mean, I wouldn’t know an expensive suit unless it walked over and bought me a bottle of Moet.

So I made the Mild-Mannered Lawyer come stand with me. She’s a lawyer, after all. Money is her second language! I was explaining my strategy when a group of young men nearby started hooting and high-fiving each other. One of them had obviously enjoyed a sizable win so if they weren’t rich before, they were now.

“Quick!” I said to the Mild-Mannered Lawyer. “If we go stand near them, when one of them shouts ‘Drinks are on me!’, we can be part of their round.”

The Mild-Mannered Lawyer refused to go with me, so I walked over and stood awkwardly nearby but they barely noticed me, even though I was wearing half a bird on my head.

On my way back to the MML, I saw another pair of nice young gentlemen. “Excuse me but are you rich?” I asked, as politely as I could for a drunken woman twice their age.

“No,” they said, somewhat nervously, stepping back slightly. Their mothers had obviously put them on High-Cougar-Alert.

Anyway, I ask you all: what is the point of getting all dressed up if rich men aren’t going to buy you drinks? Shuh! Next time I go to the races (and there will be a next time, right, MML?), I am pre-ordering some Rich Gentleman via RSVP. Look out for me there. I’ll be the half-bird half-showgirl who states she’s looking for “Free Drinks Only’. Classy.

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