The Blackbirds

Last night, I did the unthinkable. I allowed my mother to drag me to her monthly bunko game. They needed a substitute last minute, and as it's widely known that I have no life and should be grateful for the company of old ladies, I was called. I really didn't want to go. I mean, let me be clear, I love these old ladies, but my idea of a stimulating conversation is not discussing someone's bowel movements in colorful detail.

I arrived with three minutes to spare, helping my mother up the stairs. She's actually very healthy, and I just got out of surgery a couple of weeks ago, yet still, help her up the stairs. I'm such a magnificent person. Love me.

Anyway, the first thing that struck me was the sheer amount of food these women had brought. Counting myself there were twelve people present, but these ladies had brought enough food to feed a small army of Oliver Twist like orphans. Of course you can have more! There was an entire turkey, all the other traditional Thanksgiving dishes, another meal composed of Italian items for those who don't like native American dishes, along with various dips, cheeses, crackers, and enough home made bread to choke all of New York's pigeons.

Then there were the pies. I have never seen so many pies, of so many varieties. There were fruit pies, nut pies, pies with designs on the top, individual pies, and pies hiding their true identity by calling themselves 'crisps.'

I was staggered. I wanted to tell them this is the reason you guys have to spend so much time talking about your bowel movements. If you eat this much, it must be all you have time for!

After the gorging, where they all sat on the edge of pieces of furniture, looking like hungry blackbirds, we took our places according to which team we were with. Then the game began.

For those of you who've never played bunko, let me tell you about it. It's craps for rich, white women, with the addition of musical chairs. I think they only added all the moving from table to table to and chair to chair to make it seem more complicated than it is.

I'm not going to detail how it's played for you. If you want to know the mysteries of the blackbirds, you must join their tribe as I did.

Every few minutes you'd here some high, watery voice scream "Bunko!" and then the chattering magpies would commence to congratulate the winner by calling her a bitch and demanding to know how she cheated. Then, after we all moved to another chair or table, the game would begin again, after the necessary gossiping about whomever had just left the table. I was terrified to move, afraid that I was being judged and found wanting, and that eventually they would grow tired of my transgressions and bake me into a pie.

Halfway through the game there was a drawing if door prizes. I won a small scented candle, which I then had to jealously guard, as small, wizened hands were constantly trying to slip it into their purses.

At last, the game was over, and I had won. I was offered a choice of prizes. I reached for an attractively packaged group of dishes, apparently with the intent of making my own murderous pies. However, as I turned around I found I was being surrounded by the ladies, and the dishes were gently taken from my hands and put back on the pile.
"Those are for Jayne" it was explained to me.
So, I picked up a decorative Christmas item. This too, was returned, as someone else had used the blackbird telepathy to ear mark it as their own. Finally, after many games of pick and return, I was given a small fridge magnet advertising a restaurant in Maine.

With that, the party began to disperse, like someone had announced that a free buffet was being offered down the street. In minutes I was standing alone, next to a hostess who clearly didn't want me in her home anymore.

With that, I grabbed my purse, noted the candle was now missing, took my magnet and left.

Today that magnet graces my fridge, along with a note to remind me to that the next game is the first week in December.

Please save me.