Bailing on Book Club

I admit it.

I am the worst at keeping hair appointments and it drives Suzi, my hair stylist of the last nine years, absolutely nuts. "Nobody, nobody, goes six to eight weeks between appointments," she regularly berates me. "Just you, Madeleine. You're the only one of my clients that I have to call and tell you you're just coming in, damnit, that's all." To which I tell her that understanding her frustration with trying to keep my head in any kind of maintenance, I made life easier on both of us about four years ago and decided to grow my hair out. The bangs, too. I mean, how hard can it be to maintain that?

Hair appointments to me are like oil changes for the car. They're just something I have to do so I do them. I am unlike a lot of my friends and half of my colleagues in this regard, as these ladies have hair appointments, waxing appointments, nail appointments, and massage appointments. Also the seasonal pedicure appointments. Makes my head spin. I have never seen the point of paying $50 to put acrylic, which is harmful to my nails, on my nails. I don't like my feet touched and can do my own pedicure, and as far as the waxing is concerned....well, let's just say I'm sure it has its applications but some people get carried away. No human body, especially not mine, should require that much maintenance.

Bailing on a hair appointment doesn't bother me. Even Suzi has gotten used to it and forgives me because we get along so well. Four hours in her chair is as much fun for her as anything. Between the two of us we pretty much figure out the universe in the time it takes to make me blonde again and get rid of dead ends and as an added bonus I get to catch up on six weeks worth of People magazines lying around the salon.

I've also occasionally re-scheduled a doctor appointment but not often because my primary physician of the last nine years, a 4' 2" Ukrainian sweetheart, can really scare me when she gets stern.

I've been late to work. I always make up for it by bringing donuts (that's our rule: fifteen minutes is fine. At the sixteenth minute, you're bringing breakfast). But I've never, ever, bailed on book club.

Monday nights are book club. It is what it is and it's not negotiable. It's been that way for six months, since the book club was formed. True, a weekly book club is odd. Most normal people in a book club meet once a month when everyone has actually read the book. But somehow the universe threw together this mishmash of six women who require a weekly book club, and I've never been happier than since I joined. Sara, in the west end of the complex, posted a notice in the clubhouse, I signed on, Jessie followed, Anna was next, Julie and Rita weren't far behind, and there you go.

The rules, such as they are, are pretty easy to follow: We rotate locations each week so it's always at someone or the other's condo. Bring something to eat that's remotely healthy, hostess provides wine and a non-alcoholic option. We discuss the actual book on the last meeting of the month. In the interim times, we may discuss only as far as group concensus agrees we've read to, so no surprises are ruined as far as plotline, and the 'excused absences' are simple and it's a short list. Half of us are married. Half of us are single. Therefore, you may excuse yourself from book club if your child is sick or your spousal unit is cranky and doesn't want to be left at home that night. These options are fine as long as they don't become habitual. Single members (myself, Jessie, and Rita) may consider themselves excused if they are sick, or have an opportunity for a date they just really don't want to miss. With one caveat: It must not be a first date. Acceptable excuse for non-attendance, but you must expect to get grilled by the group et al about it on the following Monday, which is generally enough to have you not be absent.

Book club is at 8:00pm sharp, and tonight it was at Sara's.

I had a second date this afternoon with that incredible person who, in the course of one dinner, managed to make an impression on me that hadn't been made in years and that, to be honest with you, I'd rather thought would never be made on me again. We had a great time at the zoo (I met his youngest child) and while I knew I would be home in time for book club, when I was returned to my car at seven-thirty, I called Sara.

"I'm not going to make it," I told her, knowing that even getting home in fifteen minutes (traffic was beautifully non-existent), by the time I took Basil out all I'd really want to do is throw on my pajamas, go through the mail, and call it a day. "Second date."

Heavy sigh, then:

"It's your book this month."

"I know."

"I've actually started reading it."

"Good! I mean, I hope you like it."

"Joyce Carol Oates? You're kidding, right? Who actually likes Joyce Carol Oates?"

"I do," I said, and then, "Maybe I'm just paying you back for Norman Mailer. 'Castle in the Forest'? Are you serious? That was a rough one to get through."

"But you did. And I think we all enjoyed it. Mailer is a genius."

"He's something," I agreed, "but a whole month of reading about Adolf Hitler and his childhood? That kind of genius I can do without."

"And your kind of Joyce Carol Oates I can, too. It's my pick next month and I'm really leaning toward something light." She paused. "So...before I assign us all to a complete reading of last month's Mad Magazine, when does this date happen?"

I explained that it already had, I was on my way home but really all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas and go through the mail. I was, I explained, rather in my own personal happy place and nothing would put the end on a more perfect day than to be able to put on my pajamas, turn on the TV and attempt to catch the day's news on one of the 1,007 channels I've had since I had the Dish Network installed, half of which I haven't even located yet, and just go to bed.

Another heavy silence.

"I see," Sara said. "So...is there going to be a third date?"

"I think and absolutely hope so," I said.

"Well..." she paused, then laughed. "OK, I understand. But you were bringing cheese, and wine."

"Picked them up Saturday. I have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and those ridiculous Babybels Jessie was going on and on about last week in the fridge. Should I run them over?"

"I'll send Alex. Ten til?"

Ah, the luxury of the married woman who doesn't want to run an errand: She sends her spousal unit. I remember the days.

"Sounds good," I said. "I'll be out back with Basil, but I'll leave them outside my door."

"Then I forgive you," she said. "But you know you're going to get the third degree on Monday."

"Thanks. But that's next week. Hopefully you guys have memories as short as mine and will have forgotten by then."

"You really shouldn't plan Monday night dates, Mad."

"I usually don't. It's just that I've not up until now met so incredible a person."

"You're making us read Joyce Carol Oates--!"

"OK, no more Monday night dates."

"OK then, I forgive you, but only because of that."

So that business taken care of, I hooked Basil up to her I-am-a-spoiled-dog-and-therefore-have-a-sixteen-foot-leash, and we went off to the dog park at the south end of the property. When I came home, the wine and cheese were gone. Alex. Such a great husband.

So here I am, and I've bailed on book club and no regrets, really. Rules are rules, and this is the first, and probably will be the only, time I have called in an acceptable excuse. Anna, on the other hand, has missed three meetings (she probably, like me, was just trying to stay conscious through Norman Mailer) due to 'cranky spouse', so if I felt bad at all it wasn't so terrible.

There's no reason I couldn't have run over there, and been maybe a half hour late. It's just that I had such a perfect day, to tell you the truth. I moved a paperwork mountain at my desk I'd been hoping to move. I was able to see someone again that I really wanted to see. And having seen him again, I look forward to seeing him again.

And I met an incredible little girl and was eye to eye with a zebra for the first time in eighteen years.

Some days just don't need anything more added to them.

Today was one of them.

So today I bailed on book club, but in the back and even in the front of my mind: No Regrets.