For most married women, a small stash of “fun money” is necessary for those purchases that cannot withstand male scrutiny, but which are essential to a fulfilling existence. Shoes, for example.
Enterprising women therefore have found a way to turn profit from the greatest asset they have: their friends. Thus begins the time-honored tradition of direct home sales. You know what I’m talking about.
The game begins with a simple e-mail: “It’s been far too long since we have all gotten together, so please save the date for a Ladies’ Night Out!!!!!”
There are always exclamation points. Suburban women have a five exclamation point minimum in all e-mail communications.
The possibility of a child-free evening is enticing. A whole evening of uninterrupted conversation, with adults? A chance to wear lipstick? Count me in!
Inevitably, the outing is set to commence one hour before your children’s bedtime. It will therefore be necessary to convince your husband to leave work early. If resistance is encountered, suggest to him that your evening out may increase his chances of getting laid. Once those synapses fire up, your freedom is guaranteed.
Child care assured, you RSVP: “Sounds great!!!” “Can’t Wait!!” Your e-mails must be done on a "reply all" basis. Don’t forget the five exclamation points. Emoticons are optional.
You will spend perhaps a day or two daydreaming about witty, uninterrupted conversation with your girlfriends. At this point, you're so happy that you might even hum.
Cue the preprinted post card. This is the index card that morphs your evening out into one of Dante’s Circles of Hell. Instantly your Ladies Night Out is transformed into an Obligation to Buy. You have been duped – yet again – and it’s too late to turn back.
You know the rest. Certain items will be on sale throughout the evening. Your hostess will, of course, repeat endlessly that this is just a chance to “catch up!” (as long as catching up involves your checkbook and a friend or two with theirs.)
The “don’t feel obligated to buy” monologue is a bald-faced lie, especially if the invitation is from someone who attended on of your parties. If Sally bought a saucepan at your recent at-home soiree, you must now purchase foundation at hers or suffer the social consequences. At home parties are nothing more than an endless loop of payback guilt that has subsidized pocket money since the first cavewoman sold her friends bear skin rugs. The only thing with memory longer than an elephant is an experienced at-home hostess.
I’ve hosted my share of parties, luring good friends with the promise of chardonnay and "no obligation to buy." Each time the cost of the liquor far outweighed whatever free items or discount were derived from my “total sales.” I ended up purchasing more than I could possibly afford, none of which I've used to date. And the hangover lasted for days. Whether it was induced by guilt or the alcohol I'll never know.
After a certain number of years, at-home parties begin to wane. I’m not sure if we get busier or broke, or we’ve just bought everything available. Once you've bough the vice-grip apple peeler, you know you've jumped the shark.
In my first decade in suburbia, I attended parties featuring the following products for purchase:
Candles
Stamps
Cookware
Clothing
Make Up
Pocketbooks
Scrapbooks
Food storage
Jewelry
Vibrators (Really! I’m not kidding!)
I’d like to see men take up this trend. Imagine the useless things your husband would buy under the guise of a “Man’s Night Out.” Lawnmowers. Spark plugs. Golf Equipment. Porn. The list is endless. But until men get collectively organized enough for invitations and exclamation points, the Obligation to Buy will remain the purview of the suburban mother trying to sustain her shoe budget.
Long live the at-home party!
