Long before I was Hot Mama, I was just plain old Hot Girl. I actually was. I was skinny, had super long hair, and was a wild thing. When I was 19 years old, I worked in a high priced spa, doing nails for rich bitches (ACTUAL bitches…as in the kind that are not likeable…nothing like the Ladies of Bitchburgh). It was at this spa that history was made…this is where I met Wormy. It was almost 10 years ago, which made her 20somethingsomething. At that point in time, I had no idea that this hip chick would eventually become my maid of honor, godmother to my future child, and one of my best friends in the entire world. All I knew was that she was a good bit older then me and she could get me into bars.
We started out mildly. The Sunnyledge is a little bed and breakfast that was right near where we worked in Shadyside. It had a pricey bar and really expensive food. The bartender wore a tie. You couldn’t smoke in there (this was long before they made it illegal to smoke basically anywhere), and the only music was of the piano variety. But they didn’t card…they were too sophisticated for that. Besides, what 19 year old would want to hang in a bed and breakfast anyway? Honestly, I didn’t and neither did Wormy. After three consecutive Wednesdays of this, she put an end too it, “Look, Girl,” she said to me. “this is not going to work for me. We need to find you another under 21 bar and STAT. I can’t handle these richy stuffed shirts for one more week. If we have to stay here, I’m sorry but we are going to have to put our budding friendship on hold until you are 21. Or get a fake ID. But I can’t handle this. There are better offers out there.” This was the moment where I learned all about Wormy’s Theory of the Better Offer, but that is another blog entirely.
We sat, sipping the last few sips of our fourteen dollar Cosmopolitans, and thought up a plan. A small little restaurant/bar right on Walnut Street, a little off to the side, not too noticeable, with a very young staff. Cappy’s. We mapped out our plan of attack. Wormy coached me on how to walk in, like I owned the place, look the waitress directly in the eye, and order my drink. We made the decision to order food, hoping that would throw the waitress off a bit. I did as I was told. I sat down, ordered a sandwich and a vodka cranberry. I looked at the waitress. She looked back. And she said……… “Ok.”
That was it. Not a blink, not a question, not even a hint of caring what my ID said. From that moment on, Wednesday Night was born. It became the one constant in my life…I looked forward to it all week long. Those Wednesday nights were where our friendship was formed, where we bitched about work, cried over men, talked smack on co workers, gained and lost weight, fell in and out of love, got through family crisis, break ups, flings, seasons, jobs, and fights. This is where we played the same songs on the juke box every week (I can’t remember them all but I know I always played Bare Naked Ladies ‘Alcohol’.) This is where we played beer pong. Badly. And this is where we laughed…and laughed and LAUGHED some more. Lots of friends came and went through the years. Wikki became a constant Wednesday companion. Some of my very favorite memories about both Wormy and Wikki are from those nights. This went on for years. Even after I turned 21, we continued to go there every week, at least just for dinner before heading someplace else for drinks. We never told the bartenders and waitresses that had become our friends the truth about my age. No one got in trouble, we did our own thing and never caused a problem, so I honestly don’t think they would have even cared.
At the end of my 21st year, I became pregnant with E-man. We tried for a while to continue, but I was a very bitchy (as in ACTUAL bitchy. Possessed by demons, possibly) pregnant person and I could not handle the smoking and drinking around me. Wednesday night fizzled, for me anyway. Wormy and Wikki continued to do it long after. Eventually, I got married, everyone was kind of settling into relationships, and Wednesday night turned into kind of a date night to include the men. Every so often, I would make a cameo, with HP in tow. But the locale had changed. The feel had changed, too.
I spend my Wednesday nights now with different ladies, watching movies and drinking box o’ wine at my house. Much like the Wednesdays of my past, I look forward to those nights every week. A night with the girls is always refreshing…and each week, for a brief moment, I always think of little 19 year old me and 20somethingsomething Wormy, in our white salon uniforms, smoking cigs, cursing our boss, and waiting for the moment when we could share our awesomeness with the world. Thank God, we have arrived.