Mardi Grab

We went to a Mardi Gras party tonight. My husband prepared by going to the party store and buying a bunch of beads and masks and noisemakers. We took them to the party to find that our host had mountains of beads, masks and noisemakers scattered everywhere.

My husband says that the guys are supposed to wear lots of beads, and if the girls ask for a string, the guy gives her one but then she has to lift up her shirt. “It’s a tradition,” he said.

“The women at this party won’t have to lift their shirts very high,” I said.

I’m sure he didn’t care, because men seem to love the sight of a women’s private areas no matter how awful they are. Me, I’ve been in locker rooms with all ages, and I’d rather keep my eyes aimed at the floor. The imagination can’t even conceive what time and food will do to a woman’s body.

My husband likes to cook, so he wanted to make something even though we’d been requested not to bring anything. He was going to make crawdads but couldn’t find any, thank goodness. They give me the creeps and I won’t eat them. I’ve swam with them before and they shoot through the water backwards. To me, this is unappetizing.

He brought fixins for mint juleps instead, which I didn’t think was a Mardi Gras drink but Google said it was. Mint juleps seem like a Kentucky thing. We had quite a lot of fun at the party, but he didn’t get any flashers.

Then we went to a nightclub because one of our friends was playing horns in the band. They were great – they had a lead singer that had such a clear, powerful voice that glasses where shattering all around. I’m making that up, but it would have been fun to watch. My husband thought all the members of the band needed beads, even the ones playing guitar using both hands. The band was right on the dance floor on a foot high platform, and he stood in front of each band member, and there were eight of them, with the beads held out until they stopped playing and took them.

Then a bunch of girls wanted some beads, and he became the darling of the dance floor, handing out beads and explaining the tradition while I rolled my eyes. He’s decided he’ll carry beads around with him all the time since they are a babe magnet. I should be jealous, I guess, but I know him – he just wants to be silly and the life of the party. Who would have though a few strings of beads could attract new friends from all directions?

I, on the other hand, seemed to be attracting male attention like a Hummer driving up your street. I forgot to mention at the first soirée an older man offered to give me a neck message. I said, “Cool,” because my neck has been achy lately. He came over to where I was sitting and started rubbing my neck, except he’s just letting his hands kind of glide over the surface. He says, “I’m letting my energy pass to you to help loosen your muscles.” I don’t know if it was doing that much good, but it was pleasant enough. Then he started moving down my neck to my back, and around my shoulders. My husband was talking to the host but glancing over from time to time. I was talking to the guy’s wife, who assured me he does these massages everywhere he goes. As his hands wandered down my arms, I got the suspicion that those hands were going to start seeking out areas that didn’t need to be explored by a strange man. My husband walked by me about that time and leaned down to whisper, “It didn’t take you long to attract the party perv.”

All in all it was an evening of adventures, and I feel I’m ready now for the long forty days of Lent, which is what Mardi Gras is supposed to be about – doing everything you’re not supposed to do and then spending a couple of months repenting. My husband didn’t get any girls to raise their shirts, but he had fun trying. I got a pleasant massage from a geezer who, after he was done with me, set out to lavish his energetic hands on other fresh meat at the party. I don’t know if you could call any of this being naughty, but it was fun pretending.