Every one of us, if we are seasoned, wise women, have gotten up some mornings and felt, as the Girls say, “Crappy”. And when you ache or hurt or can’t straighten up right away, you don’t feel pretty. My getting up one morning with my hip radiating discomfort up my back and down my thigh – when I had to make my way to the bathroom before I could straighten up, I looked in the mirror and said the word . . . . CRAP. Your friends at Table 12 feel the same sometimes.

I Feel Pretty (NOT!!)

Mary Rose McGill limped across the Meadow Lakes dining room. Zed Zonker, champion power limper passed her like the hare passed the tortoise. Then he turned and gave her a smug look. Mary Rose didn’t like Zed. She frowned, limped faster and splayed her arms out like some helpless bird trying to maintain a tricky balance.

She plopped down at Table 12 and looked at Robbie Leary, Hadley Joy Morris-Whitfield and Marge Aaron. “I feel crappy.”

“Crap.” Marge the retired homicide detective said. “Crazy, Revolting, Agonizing, Pissy.” She looked at Mary Rose. “At our age we all feel crappy. If it isn’t broke, it creaks, if it doesn’t creak, it leaks and if it doesn’t leak it’s probably been surgically removed. Quit whining. Buck up, girl.­­”

Robbie was more sympathetic. “What’s going on, girlfriend?” It was then she noticed Mary Rose had on no makeup and her hair looked as if she’d just run her fingers through it, ignoring a brush or comb.

“I got up all achy and hurting,” Mary Rose’s voice was close to tears. “My arthritis is acting up. My back hurts and I can’t straighten up, my fingers hurt, my knee hurts. I hurt!”

“You don’t need Crap,” Marge said, leaning toward her. “You need SHIT, Shoulders back, Head high, I’s straight ahead and Tummy tucked in.”

Mary Rose looked at her, eyes wide. “You’re doing a lot of intense intestine talk, lady. You have a knee replacement. Don’t tell me you never hurt.”

“I have trouble straightening up when I sit for awhile,” Hadley added. They ignored her.

Robbie looked across the table at Hadley. “I know what you mean. I read a little in Stephen King’s Dark Tower this morning and the first line was, ‘Jonas whirled on his heels, suddenly feeling old and slow.’ That’s how I feel most days.”

There were two complaining, whining conversations going on. Hadley and Robbie were comparing ills and aches and Mary Rose and Marge were close to arguing over who could hurt the most.

Mary Rose was actually pointing a finger at Marge “My friend and soul sister, Mary, has terrible aches and pains and all sorts of things wrong and she always looks beautiful. I get up achy and hurting and,” she paused for a breath. They all grew quiet. “And I don’t feel pretty, dammit!” She put one hand to her forehead.  And I want to feel pretty.”

There was a full minute of silence, then Marge pulled out her cell phone. “We all know Mary,” she said. She found Mary’s number and pressed the tiny phone symbol. She gave Mary Rose a critical look.

They were all still. They could hear the phone ringing in Mary’s cottage by the Platte River. She answered.

“OK, Mary.” Marge started out. “Mary Rose McGill says you have all kind of crap (she emphasized the word and looked at Mary Rose), “and you still look beautiful all the time. How do you do it?”

They waited. Marge nodded. She laid the phone on the table and hit ‘speaker’. “Say it again, girl,”

Mary laughed “Every day I work at making myself look better than I feel. I also say you shouldn’t wallow in self-pity but it doesn’t hurt to put your feet in and swish ‘em around a little. If you BOOB Girls are feeling bad, quit wallowing and whining and go get a make-over.” And she laughed and hung up.

Hadley grinned. “Excellent idea.” She looked at her watch. “Dillards has just opened at Westroads. Let’s all go and get makeovers.”

“Not me!” Marge Aaron said. “I’ve never had one and I don’t plan to start!”

“It will be fun,” Robbie said, starting to stand up.” We can gross out the young gals who put on our makeup by telling them how powder used to cake in our mothers’ wrinkles. Then we can go to Mark’s Bistro and have wine with lunch to celebrate.”

“Those were the days,” Hadley added, remembering powder in wrinkles. She was standing along with Robbie. “Pond’s Face Cream in a jar and loose powder in a compact.”

Mary Rose looked at Marge. “You started it, big girl. If I go, you go.” She stood. They all looked down at the former homicide detective. She started to stand up, too, bracing her hand on the table to help her get up. “Crap!” she said, draping her red cane over her arm.

They started out the door toward the black Hummer. Robbie was fiddling in her purse for the keys.

“Crap, Crap, Crap!” Marge said, loud enough for them to hear. Then she started to wonder if they still had that blue eyeshadow and orange lipstick like she used to wear in the 50’s.

“Slow down, girls! You don’t have to walk that fast!” She caught up to them before they reached the Hummer.

BOOB Girls I V: Murder at Meadow Lakes sold out of the first printing in three weeks. More are on the way. To get your copy send a check for $17 to Joy Johnson, Box 4600, Omaha Ne 68104.