Ms. Rachow has been taking a remedial course in how to be a lady and recently had the opportunity to try out her new skills.
The lot at the DoubleTree is packed. Already I’m sorry I wore my highest heels, because it’ll be a hike from Outer Mongolia where I found parking. Never mind, I tell myself. Walking on stilts is great exercise, and it’s all for a good cause.
I’m lunching with several hundred supporters of Girls Inc., the group dedicated to inspiring girls to be strong, smart and bold.
This is February, the month of St. Valentine’s Day, and many of the women are festooned in shades of red. I see a magenta hound’s-tooth jacket here, a scarlet lapel flower there, and lots of ruby red slippers everywhere. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.
Who knew the paparazzi would be out in full force? Or maybe it’s just that every human on the planet now comes equipped with a flashing digital camera ready to record all things large and small. I pray I don’t have something green stuck in my teeth.
It’s worth commemorating any day when several hundred Santa Barbara women get out of cozy sweatpants and into designer finery and their best bling-bling. If ya got it, today’s definitely the day to flaunt it.
I’m impressed there are so many men in the crowd. Like them, I’m wearing my basic dark suit (designer: Nordie’s store brand), the only outfit I own not appropriate for the gym or pruning roses.
I’m here especially because two of my pals, Susan Chiavelli and Susan Gulbransen, are the editors of More Letters from the Heart, Girl Incorporated’s new book of wisdom from exceptional women and girls. I realize that by day’s end I might be wiser for the experience, and that couldn’t hurt.
I promise myself to sit up straight, keep my elbows off the table. And no toothpicking! I usually dine with terriers, and they have no table manners whatsoever. I’ll have to dig deep to remember how to behave like a lady. But it’s all worth it for a good cause.
At the centers of the tables are stunning bouquets of perfect hot pink roses. Thousands of thorny bushes worked overtime to make this possible.
I take a sip of tea. When did they officially change all the iced tea in the world from orange pekoe to mango? No problem. For the girls of greater Santa Barbara, we’ll gladly drink fruit, even farkleberries.
Maybe because we all look so snazzy in our luncheon duds, the ladies at our table take our chatting upscale, as if impressionable children are monitoring us. It isn’t easy speaking so wisely.
The emcee calls for our attention, and simultaneously dozens of food servers in black suits (shockingly similar to the one I’m wearing) appear.
Gorgeous plates of food are dealt like playing cards. For me, it’s a challenge to get a meal for two on the table, but the hotel serving staff is elegantly efficient. Within minutes we all have medallions of pepper-crusted steak and sautéed baby vegetables before us.
There’s much hoopla from the dais to thank the volunteers for their hard work. So much clapping gives me a hearty appetite. However, there’s an odd rule at charity luncheons that no one is supposed to actually eat the lunch, no matter how beautifully presented it is.
I understand the no-eat custom at rubber chicken buffets, but the food today is yummy. I’m a charter member of the clean-your-plate club, so I savor every bite, thus losing lady-like points big time.
I do restrain myself from asking others, “Aren’t you going to eat that?” My terriers would be very sad to see all that steak going back to the kitchen, but there’ll be no doggie bags today.
A waiter whisks away my plate, thus relieving my embarrassment at having consumed lunch.
Soon there are elaborate desserts for all. Apparently, it’s not against any secret rule to eat the sweets. The ladies at my table have saved plenty of room for white chocolate cheesecake. Oh the things we do for a good cause.
Now where’s the coffee? Empty cups on the table make me hopeful. Finally java is poured, and it’s time to drink in wisdom from the speakers.
We’re encouraged to tell all girls to take risks and master challenges, the exact opposite of what so many of us heard growing up. There’s no age-limit to such excellent advice. What’s good for the gosling is good for the goose. It’s not easy becoming wiser, but it’s the least we can do for this good cause.
First published in the Montecito Journal February 21, 2008
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