I live in the land of the Cabots and the Lodges, but I’ve never thought too much about high society. I have a good life with middle society.
However, I had a taste of ladies who lunch while visiting my aunt in Buffalo last month. My cousin Joannie and her friend Joanne met me at the airport and took me to lunch at their ladies’ club. Fortunately I wasn’t in jeans (my usual travel outfit) and I had a nice pair of shoes in my backpack because my Merrells wouldn’t do. Joannie agreed that I ought to leave the backpack in the car, but assured me that I would pass scrutiny in my gray slacks and Brooks Brothers navy blazer.
The club looked like a place where ladies lunch. It had the air of an old boys club, but with lots of pink. We ate our buffet lunch in a room with floor to ceiling windows looking out on a garden where members play croquet, but only if they are dressed in white from head to toe. I couldn’t help but note that our presence probably lowered the age average considerably—everyone seemed to be at least eighty.
When we left, Joannie and her friend told me that their club has reciprocity with a ladies club in Boston. They promised to take me there when they visit.
But I don’t think I’ll ever be a genuine lady who lunches.