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A totally tall tale
about a night on the town

2011 Fay Jacobs

It was all for a really good cause.

And I'd love to tell you about it, but I've been sworn to secrecy.

Right there, in the limo on the way to Dover, DE for the Delaware Breast Cancer Coalition gala, I was told, in no uncertain terms, that what happens on the bus stays on the bus. No telling this story, Jacobs.

Fair enough.

Apparently, even changing the names of the 19 women, invited by two very generous local entrepreneurs to attend the Southern Lights of Life gala at Dover Downs ballroom, would not be enough.

So here I am, deadline looming, and I'm embargoed on the tale, left without a story.

Instead, I'll just use my noodle and make up a great big whopper.

Just Imagine (and I know this will be tough) that Bonnie and I donned sparkly, sequined outfits and squeezed our clodhoppers into dress shoes we haven't worn since two foot-sizes ago. It's a hoot thinking we'd ever trade Eddie Bauer for girly wear like that, right? Nor would we ever pour Johnny Walker and Grey Goose into flasks for the hour ride.

Said limo might have pulled up at our centrally located home, but we're so deep in the closet here in Food Lion Estates we'd never let a gaggle of gay girls flaunt themselves on our driveway. What would the neighbors say? And of course, you might spy a limo for 20, with two bars, a throbbing sound system and sexy lighting in New York or Philly, but never in Lower, Slower DE, so what's the use of my making that up.

On the ride, our well-behaved ladies (temperance all the way!) would never host a raucous happy hour with more wine on board than the liquor store. And since we all eat like birds, no need for numerous munchies trays. Plus, it's totally far-fetched to think we were greeted in Dover by an overflowing open bar and silent auction, where well-oiled guests (ergo, certainly not us) went wild bidding on booze baskets, jewelry, electronics etc.

I'd tell you that a colleague caught me bidding on sports items, like rounds of golf, for frying out loud, but who'd believe that???

And , while it's true that Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductee Shirley Alston Reeves of the Shirelles was in Dover singing "Soldier Boy" and lots of Motown hits , it's preposterous to think that a bunch of Reho gals would actually get up and dance between the tables, so I won't even bother to pull that one over on you.

"Liar!" you holler, when I postulate that a few stuffy patrons at other tables wished they were having the fun the lesbians were having. C'mon, could our cluster of women of a certain age, including a high-level educator, a doctor, a realtor and even women lauded as Delaware Small Business Owners of the Year possibly behave so giddily? Not bloody likely.

Frankly, it's a relief to be able to stop making stuff up and tell you that the event did actually include a fashion show, with a dozen breast cancer survivors modeling gorgeous ensembles. The women ranged in age from young and perky to mature and marvelous, all looking stunning, healthy and delighted to be volunteering for the cause.

The highlight of the evening was the drawing of the lucky duck. Attendees purchased little rubber duckies with numbers on the bottom and there would be one lucky ducky winner of a bounty of electronics- a TV, laptop, camera, Kindle, Xbox, you name it! You'd surely shout "Liar, liar, pants on fire" if I said somebody on our team won, because after all, there were hundreds of lucky ducky bidders.

So no, I won't fabricate the scene of a dozen decked-out dykes hot-footing it back to the limo, toting so much gear it looked like we'd looted a Best Buy. And I certainly won't insult you by saying I was high bidder on a basket of vodka and martini mixin's. My bidding on that poison makes no sense.

The truth is, and I have to be careful here not to give too much away, but these old broads probably slept on the tedious ride back home, having pooped themselves out. So why shouldn't I fantasize? Once upon a time there was a stretch limo much like a subway car, with overhead grab bars and a pole in the center so folks could steady themselves while moving about. But surely, no one in this circle of friends would dream of using the center support as a Demi Moore-style dance accoutrement. Certainly not a group where somebody's mother was part of the contingent, for pity's sake! I mean, how would that look????

And speaking of looking, you'd never buy that we had to lower the limo window shades lest passing traffic spy the action and initiate a chain reaction pile-up.

So there you have it. Billed as a night for living and giving, it was great to be a part of such a worthy event for a great cause - even if I was not allowed to tell you the truth about our group behaving appropriately, acting our ages and just making it through a dull but worthwhile evening.

Damn those gals for killing such a boring story.
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Fay Jacobs is the publisher of A&M Books, a successor to the legendary Naiad Press and author of As I Lay Frying - a Rehoboth Beach Memoir (now in its third printing), Fried & True - Tales of Rehoboth Beach and the newest book, For Frying Out Loud - Rehoboth Beach Diaries.

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