Get Your Ya-Yas Out!
Earlier I wrote that I was going to explain the Ya-Yas. Of course they were named after the book by Rachel Wells but these Ya-Ya’s predate the book by at least a couple of decades. The first time I ever saw my wife she walked into a party at the Belvidere Museum¹, she was with the Ya-Ya’s. My calendar has a permanent repeating entry, “bec out” on Thursday nights. They call themselves Cookie, Higs and Swan and these girls know how to have fun. One is an escapee from a convent, one is a Wisconsin farm girl and the third is a small town Minnesota girl who grew up poor with an absent father and seven siblings. I don’t think guys do this. My pals and I don’t. For us if it didn’t involve killing something, competing in games, watching other people competing in games or fixing something, what’s the point. The thought of having a permanent night of the week reserved for hanging out is just too…well you know. We have a standing joke at our house. When my wife is telling me about her latest plans with her women friends, I put on a sad face and say, “I wish I had friends.”
Not that the Ya-Yas just hang out. They go to plays and movies and restaurants, they are regular bon vivants. Sometimes when the work week has been tough they do just hang, often in a room in Hig’s house known as the Ya-Ya room. Alcohol consumption is often involved. Otherr times they paint a room or have a garage sale or plan a party. I suspect they spend some tme bitching about their husbands, although my wife denies it.
Beck is a great friend, I can tell when I drop into her work world that people really like her. I think sometimes I get jealous of that. Sometimes it seems like she gives more of a damn about her friends than her family. I know that’s not true, just old Mr. Insecure popping his ugly head up again, but what good’s being married if you can’t occasionally bitch about it? One of the bonuses of the Ya-Ya sisterhood for me is that I’ve become pals with the other husbands. We play poker and fish and camp together and when we all get together we laugh so hard it hurts!
1. The Belvedere Museum: The house on the Robert Street Hill in St. Paul that I was living in. It was literally a museum to kitch, a college dorm room on steroids. but that’s another story.