Silver Fox Club
I’m starting a Silver Fox Club. With the exception of me, all members need to be male, 50 or older, and have a full head of wavy, silver hair. Like the kind of hair from a Ralph Lauren ad. You know the sort of hair I'm talking about? Good sailboat hair.
Mostly, it’ll be a social club. We’ll drive around in the older members’ convertibles, shop for French cuff shirts, and scoff at Just For Men commercials. Oh, and we’ll wear loafers without socks.
The Silver Foxes will give me stock tips and advice on where to get black market Cialis. In turn, I’ll make cool mix tapes for them to pass off to their 20-something girlfriends. Remember the movie Hardbodies from the 80’s? It’ll be exactly like that, except without the dramatic tension.
Here’s what the minutes from one of our future meetings might look like:
· Meeting called to order at 4:30 p.m. by Chair, Tad Ross. (I’m going to tell them to call me Tad.)
· Last month's meeting minutes amended and approved.
· Henry orders a second ice tea and winks at the waitress. He calls her “blue eyes” and she giggles. How slick is that?
· Chief Executive's Report:
- Recommends that we find a new meeting place with bustier bartenders and closer bathrooms. After brief discussion, Board agrees.
- Club member, Walter, gives a brief extemporaneous presentation on a great little jazz club where he used to take his secretary. Apparently, he once met Dave Brubeck there. After brief discussion, Board congratulates Walter on a terrific load of bullshit.
· The food arrives, and the waitress slips Henry her phone number. See what I mean? That guy is a tail magnet.
... and so on.
It’s going to be awesome. Honestly, I can’t wait to be a part of it, even though I’m not a Silver Fox, yet. I’ll probably wear a t-shirt with a silver fox on it so people know I’m a part of the club. Have I said how excited I am for this to happen?
Just a bunch of dudes hanging out, eating lunch salads to keep fit for our respective Tiffanys or Ambers. Quietly recommending good urologists. Slowly figuring out how to use our iPhones. Staying cool and silver foxy.
That is, until those Red Hat hags come nagging us for their alimony. Why do the Red Hat Ladies have to ruin everything? Damn you, Red Hat Ladies!
Damn you.
