Dirty Santa and the Hustler Bag.
By Mollytopia on December 10, 2013
I was invited to the "Dirty Santa" party!
The girl who invited me was someone I met at a meetup.com event.
I know. But I'm a go-getter and I had just moved to Georgia from Los Angeles. When "make friends" is on my to-do list, I don't mess around. I was going to that party and leaving with five phone numbers. When you're in a new city, making friends is like dating. It's a numbers game. You have to throw people-spaghetti at the wall until something sticks. Not to be confused with peen-spaghetti. That's different.
I was excited - maybe I'm gonna fit in with these girls after all!
And because helpful unicorns follow me everywhere I go, I happened to be in Nashville the VERY NEXT day.
You know what's in Nashville?
My favorite part is it's located here:
I'm not joking.
We decided to keep the gift on the mild side since I had only met the girl who invited me once, and I'd be meeting the rest of the girls for the first time.
Obviously pink handcuffs and a fetish crop were perfect.
The sales dude made it all fancy with tissue paper and put it in the signature Hustler bag! Awesome - I wouldn't even have to wrap it.
On the day of the party I showed up in Marietta, which I was not familiar with at the time. I had only heard stories. It's very small and quaint - Mayberry-ish. There are two kinds of girls there.
Swingers who wear pearls.
And moms who bake all day and gaze lovingly at their family members during meals.
I assumed my group was going to be the first bunch.
Let me be clear: I'm not a swinger and I don't wear pearls, but it sounds interesting.
The GPS told me I had arrived at my destination, so I parked in front of the traditional looking house and rang the doorbell ready to meet my new friends. The woman who answered the door looked like she just stepped out of this magazine.
I introduced myself and didn't even hear her name because I was so captivated by her make-up. It was perfect. The "natural look." The one that takes a minimum of 84 products and just as many minutes to pull it off.
To complete her Southern Lady look, she was wearing a crisp white button-down with a cardigan neatly arranged on top of it.
I have NEVER been able to wear a shirt under a cardigan. Ever. It gets all bunchy and stupid, and my boobs make me look pregnant. I kind of hated her for a second. But then I stopped because she was so pretty.
Meanwhile I was standing on her porch wearing black motorcycle boots and a leather jacket holding a Hustler bag. Kind of like this:
I wanted to lie and say I was at the wrong house, but then I spotted her pearls.
Ohhhhkay I see what's happening here. You're not fooling me, Mrs. Carpool Swingerpants.
She invited me in and I followed the chatter to a perfect kitchen right out of The Stepford Wives.
Thankfully the girl who invited me flowed out of the crowd to greet me wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I exhaled a little bit, but then inhaled sharply when she shoved me into the center of the room and announced me to the group.
Everyone stopped talking and smiled at me warmly in that pretend way when an outsider has crashed a party.
Then their eyes wandered down my person and landed on the Hustler bag.
There was a collective gasp, one "oh my," and then giggling.
I was Mortified. Yes, capital M.
The hostess, Miss Good Housekeeping (not Mrs. Carpool Swingerpants as it turns out), was kind enough to break it up with, "well come on in here then and you can put your gift with the others."
I followed her into the wholesome living room where a virgin log was waiting to be burned in the fireplace. In front of it, arranged just so, were all the other gifts wrapped in cheerful Santa paper adorned with tiny stuffed reindeer and crocheted candy canes.
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