The Desperate Housewives
I sit in the next room spying on the mothers group meeting in the boardroom of the hotel. The women seem to be getting their weekly fix of gossip. The bottles of wine around the table seem oddly out of place with the bunch of prams crowding the room. The shrill, urgent voices of desperate housewives who have too much to say resonate throughout the hall outside. Typical of their title, the housewives could almost be epitomised by the beverages they consumed.
The obviously boozed woman of the group was given away by two bottles of wine. One, lying empty on the table in front of her, the other clutched protectively in her hand. Her longing eyes darting around the table from each glass of wine gave the impression that at any moment she could leap the distance and skull the contents.
A manicured hand gripped the first woman’s arm supportively and her shoulders slumped in defeat. The hand belonged to a beautiful woman dressed only in expensive labels. If I told you she was drinking a Cosmo, you wouldn’t be surprised. Her heavily made up face turned across the table to the source of wailing that had just begun. She gave a look of pity.
The hysterical crying came from a baby in the arms of a woman who had the sense of drowning about her. Her frantic pleading with the baby came to no avail and eventually got up to leave. Her unwashed hair and day old make up was illuminated by the unforgiving lights as she stood up. All that was left behind was an empty glass that had momentarily held a double vodka. Straight.
The only other woman in the group hadn’t drawn my attention until Double Vodka had left the room. Sitting hunched in a corner she looked shy and perhaps a little scared. I got the feeling she was happy to stay in the shadows. The glass of water she sipped unobtrusively was appropriate however, the lemon in her glass seemed a little risqué.