The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

A buddy asked me to meet him at a local pub for a beer recently, even said he’d buy … so naturally I overcame my hesitancy for imbibing alcohol and met up with him outdoors at the tavern at Terry’s Corner.  He was with a friend and by the time I’d stood in line waiting to buy my own ale, he was joined by another friend.  Soon after I got introduced, one of our artist buddies shambled over, then another late arrival and we had a picnic table party on our hands.  It was all pleasant enough chatting it up with a few new folks and old, but finally I swilled the last of my beer, pushed up from my seat and said, ‘Boyz, I got to get on home and save a marriage.’

They protested mildly but as men of the world, they understood.  Can’t be staying out all night drinking and carousing.  After all, we’re not twenty-somethings anymore.  Yesterday my pal rolled into the shop while I was working and after some amusing palaver he asked me what I thought of the folks I’d met the other night.  Nice guys, I said.  He gave me a querulous look and I said, what?  ‘Zorba’, I finally said, ‘maybe I missed something the other night.  I left early, remember?’

‘What do you think about the idea of getting together once in awhile?  On a regular basis.’

‘A drinking society?’ I asked.  ‘No,’ he said, ‘more like a men’s club.  You know, discuss issues.  Men’s issues.’

Jeepers, creepers, the idea of sitting around bellyaching about my man problems just never entered my mind, I guess, so I said as politely and delicately as I could, hell no, life’s too short.  The drinking part sounded okay, but the rest, not so much.  I’ve been in writers’ groups, artists’ groups, music groups … and trust me, I don’t recommend them to anyone unless they have a deep seated penchant for masochism.  I used to join boards back when I thought cross pollination might bring cultural awareness to our little island, so I attended countless meetings, sometimes one a day, for over a year.  Talk talk talk and nothing ever got done.  And we didn’t even drink at those which made it all the more senseless besides a total waste of time.

Zorba must have read my mind.  ‘We could drink too, you know.  Maybe discuss age related stuff, senior issues, old timers like us.’  Oh boy, now that would be fun, you tell me your latest surgery story and I’ll tell you about my trick knee.  Misery loves company, so they say, but I don’t think it cares for guests.  ‘Count me out, man, I’m too young for that.  You old farts have at it, be something to take you away from Wheel of Fortune if nothing else.  You want to start a Woman’s Group, I might consider it, but no way some drum circle with a bunch of men.’

So I missed my golden opportunity to join a Men’s Club.  My chance to air my grievances, my white male diminished privilege, my Viagra stories and bladder issues.  Fortunately for me, I have this blogsite.  Unfortunately for you…

Hits: 31