March 27, 2009
Okay, no more hanging tight. I promised that you'd get a post about the country club yesterday afternoon and you're getting the post 24-hours later. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.
On Wednesday afternoon, I got a call on my cell phone from a gentleman whose name I've heard around town.
"Hello Mrs. Lawson," he asked?
"Um yeah. This is Amy," I said.
"My name is Tom McDonnough, and I'm the chairman of the membership committee at the local country club. I'm calling to find out if you and Dr. Lawson might be interested in joining this year."
Obviously, when they decided to extend the invitation, the membership committee had no idea that Dr. Lawson and I drive a rusted out 1989 Blazer with a smoking tailpipe problem. And our good car? Yeah, it's got one hubcap.
"You know," I replied, "Dr. Lawson isn't much for golfing, but thank you for the invitation."
"Well then," Tom continued, "perhaps you might be interested in purchasing a social membership to the country club this season?"
At this point I'm thinking, 'Well I can fart on command...I wonder if the other members might like to get to know me a little bit better.'
"And I think you'll find the membership fee quite reasonable," he offered.
By now I'm thinking, 'Well, if your country club has some sort of a sliding fee scale, then maybe it will fit our budget after all!'
"The social membership," he continued, "will entitle you and the doctor to unlimited use of our private beach, tennis, and use of our restaurant."
And then, in 100% seriousness I asked, "Does your country club have an all-you-can-eat buffet?" Dude. What? I wanted to know.
My question was followed by silence. So I asked again. "Tom? Does the country club have an all-you-can-eat buffet?"
"I'm sorry Mrs. Lawson," he said. "It doesn't."
"Then we're really not interested, but thank you for calling."
And just like that the conversation was over. I didn't even have the chance to ask if the restaurant accepts food stamps...or if dogs are allowed on the beach...or if the dress code would prohibit me from wearing my ass-shorts.
Honestly, I think Tom has a better chance of getting Ferdinand the Giant to join his country club that Dr. and Mrs. Lawson. Hell, Dr. and Mrs. Lawson aren't even classy enough to rake their own yard. Or give their kid regular baths. Or wear pants to the grocery store.
(If you're really feeling like a slacker today, there's another new post down there...)