August 2002"I'm not too used to someone else making a big stink over me..."
by Valerie Carino
...
When a close friend insisted on throwing me a lingerie shower in Tampa, I was taken aback by her hospitality. I'm not too used to someone else making a big stink over me, let alone a party with fruit plates, little sandwiches and a bar full of wine.
So I talked it over with myself and envisioned being surrounded by all my best friends and a brand new bridal trousseau. Of course, it was a no-brainer.
As friends arrived with their gift bags and brand new sundresses, I was reminded of what attracts women to other women - what makes us bond, what we remember about one other - all the happy moments that seem real again after a gathering around the kitchen table and a few glasses of wine.
Diana, who blessed me with a dainty white negligee, arrived first. Smartly dressed in her white cotton shirt and tailored pants, she was as beautiful as ever, a blond babe in an Ann Taylor outfit. I remember sitting with her many a night at Damo's old pub, stressing over my stalled career and wedding stresses. While the girls around us would be jonesin' for their next hookup, Diana and I chatted about babies and salary raises.
Stephanie, the consummate performer, got trashed and passed out on the futon. But not before giving me a black corset, lace boy shorts and other undies. Stephanie would be the woman friend you'd most likely rent a movie with and know all the words to every Britney Spears hit in the last two years.
After the party, everyone would remember Kathryn the Elegant. Like a true reporter, she can immerse herself into any situation - social or otherwise - and make people feel comfortable. When I was struggling in my first reporting job, she was the first to restore my confidence as a writer and assure me that my boss' approval wouldn't affect my future happiness.
Christine showed up with a bag filled with sex toys and naughty black underwear. She would be the girl in the bar you hate for her long legs, cut body, bright blue eyes and adorable blond streaks. I, too, could have hated her as well, but she once gave hell to two girls who followed my man into the men's bathroom. That's my girl.
I can't say enough about Jane. She is my mentor, the woman who hooks me up with jobs, friends and all the wisdom of a woman who's had a career but then gave it up for her family. Her gift smacked of her practical attitude towards life: underwear that actually covers your bottom.
Ghada, that girl with the mega-watt smile, brought a thong and sleepwear set for my nights in with the new husband. She commented on my glowing skin and shiny hair. That's Ghada, always with the sincere compliments.
When my sister-in-law busted out the poster of a beefcake with Damien's superimposed head on it, I knew there'd be trouble. I was so sauced I couldn't even pin the penis on my own beloved.
But with all my friends around me, it didn't seem to matter.
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