Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, March 24, 1992 TAG: 9203240338
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE:
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I do. Five or six girls holed up at the home of some poor parents who - in a weak moment or state of dementia - consented to play hosts.
The parties were just an excuse for us to wear our flannels, stay up late and giggle with other love-struck pre-adolescents. In-depth discussions ranged from whether Bobby so-and-so liked you or like-liked you, how gorgeous Mr. Vlah the health teacher was, and had anyone really been kissed yet by anyone who really counted.
The soundtrack for the evening was usually endless playings of "Sugar, Sugar" KATHLEEN WILSON by the Archies or "Daydream Believer" by the Monkees.
Twenty-some years later, when word got around that Ellen Simmons was hosting an Undercover Lady lingerie party at her Salem home, I knew I had to be there.
If you're imagining a roomful of 30-year-old women traipsing around in garter belts and camisoles, forget it. A lingerie party is an at-home sale where the host earns the nightie of her choice based on sales that evening.
Ellen invited 25 neighbors, friends and co-workers ranging in age from about 25 to 50 to help her nab that nightie.
Sue Rice, the Undercover agent, made Thursday evening's presentation.
Each ensemble has a glamorous name, like "Contessa," "Romantic Interlude" and "Blue Hawaii." And in Sue's German accent all these names sounded so enticing. When she held up the pretty peach satin and lace gown, she failed to name it.
"But what's its name?" I wanted to know.
"Da Boot," Sue said.
Da Boot? How could something so elegant have such an ugly name?
One of Ellen's guests got up and re-read the tag. "It's Debut," she corrected, much to my relief.
Some of the unmentionables are just plain unforgettable, like "Shining Star," which lights up with glow-in-the-dark stars when you turn out the lights.
"Blooming Affair" included a chemise, bra, panties and garter belt in orange, fuchsia and electric blue. I can't imagine a piece of clothing that would keep these colors from pulsating through.
There were some pieces almost too risque to describe, including the skimpy bikini brief for men with - get this - a see-through behind.
"I don't know why I'm getting this stuff," Kathy Kelderhouse of Salem lamented. "I've got no one to wear it for."
Girlfriend, I told her, you've got the wrong attitude. You buy it for you, hon, not him.
Just think what a boost it will be to your self-esteem to know that underneath your work clothes, "Blooming Affair" is flashing all over.
We didn't have gun shows in New York City. Not official ones anyway. They were just sort of impromptu dramas on the streets.
I agonized over what to wear to the Roanoke Valley Gun Show on Sunday afternoon. I thought I had it nailed with black jeans and the black denim jacket in which, back in high school, my mother wouldn't let me out of the house.
All hopes of fitting in were dashed when I drove up to the Roanoke Civic Center to pay for parking.
"You're here for symphony practice aren't you?" June Hatch smiled from her ticket booth. "You just don't look like the gun show."
If only I owned a pair of overalls and a plaid flannel shirt. Or some jungle camouflage.
The coliseum was wall-to-wall guns and ammo. One displayer, Randy Clark from Roanoke, introduced me to "the gun of choice for women": a 38-special for $199.95, which he guaranteed would get the job done.
"Anything will do the trick," he explained patiently. "Some are just more effective than others."
Later, David Jarret of Roanoke persuaded me to actually hold a gun in my hand - something I'd sworn I'd never do. It was a Davis Derringer, and it weighed only 9.5 ounces. It was so cute.
"So I guess I couldn't shoot a moose or anything like that with it," I wanted to know, not that I had plans to do so.
I really enjoyed my talk with Edmund Davidson of Goshen, a craftsman who had just been written up in "Fighting Knives," a special-interest magazine. What caught my eye was the mother of all knives: a Bowie with a 12-inch blade and a Samber handle made from an antler he found in India.
The knife, commissioned by a Boy Scout leader, was priced at $500.
It wasn't Davidson's priciest model, though. Witness the knife with the handle, he assured me, of fossilized mastodon tusk - for $1,200.
I knew it was time to leave when I found a machine gun among the assault rifles. Its handwritten sign read: "No license needed."
THE PARTY LINE: If you'd like to invite free-lance Mingling columnist Kathleen Wilson to a party or social gathering, call her at 981-3434; when asked for the mailbox, dial MING (6464) and press the key. Or write Department, Roanoke Times & World-News, P.O. Box 2491, Roanoke, Va. 24010-2491.
by CNB