I saw a bunch of ladies
today and accidentally imagined them naked.
This is because I've seen
the movie Calendar Girls, where old women strategically place
watering cans and home-knitted beanies in front of the naughty areas,
take pictures, and make a surprisingly successful calendar. And that
looked like something these women would do.
They were dandies, top to
toe in red and purple, plastered with sequins
and feathers and pipe-cleaners like a big “up yours” to the
fashion world. They looked like Willy Wonker's concubines, plus fifty
years. These are the Red Hat Ladies.
If you're a stranger to
this subculture, then let me have the pleasure of introducing you.
The Red Hat Ladies are a
“sisterhood”. They're a social group for women over fifty five
who say words like “bling” and “brolly” and “hoo-har”.
They can be equated to a flock of tropical birds, or those toucan
lolly-pops that double as an excessively annoying recorder.
But wait, The Red Hat
Ladies are not excessively annoying, not at all. I'm only envious of
their camaraderie, their hats. I want to wear red tights and
not get redirected into the staff entrance of the local brothel. I
want to look like a gal that'll
show you a good time, right up until six o'clock supper.
Alas, my friends, it's
not time yet. Give it forty years, or until there's so many folds and
creases that I look like a piece of origami. And then I'll get my kit
off, hold up a cup, a saucer and rest a tea-pot in my lap, and send
you a calendar for Christmas.
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