Cancer Benefit

Two weeks ago my wonderful husband, Jeremy, told me that we were invited to a Cancer Benefit.  Or at least I THOUGHT that is what he said.  It was $50 a couple.  Ever the perfectly organized wife, I wrote Cancer Benefit on the calendar and arranged a withdrawal of $50 from our monthly budget.  I then asked him where the money is going and he said to the food and alcohol.  Of course what I meant was to which charity was it being donated, but we got sidetracked and never finished the conversation. 

This past Monday on the way to my parents house, I asked him about the cancer benefit again and he said "why do you keep calling it that?  It is a cancer party.....like a party for the people born in June and July with the zodiac sign of cancer!!!!!"  We got a pretty good chuckle out of our miscommunication.  We later regaled my family with our funny little story.  Ha, ha, ha! 

Fast forward to Friday night. We are on our way to the cancer benefit....because I insist on still calling it that!  My sister called me and said she just heard a commercial on Hot 103 JAMZ for the Zodiac Cancer Party at 18th and Main in downtown KC.  First of all, I have no idea why Mandi was listening to Hot 103.  Let's just say it is most likely not her type of music, but really who I am to judge?  So I assumed she was playing a joke on me but she insisted that it was true and there was a possibility that the cancer benefit we were going to was being hosted by Hot 103 JAMZ.  And to make matters worse, the commercial said there is a strict dress code.  Great.  Jeremy was in shorts and a t-shirt.  I, on the other hand, was rocking my skinny jeans (thanks for the vote of confidence, Higgins) and a silk animal print shirt.  That's right, I am a brainiac and decided to wear jeans and silk shirt when it is 100 degrees outside. (wonder why my great-grandma always said Mandi was the smart one??)


So I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Feeling hot (no pun intended) in my cute outfit.  Winkin' at myself in the mirror.  Just kidding, I don't do that...my husband does though.   
 
We arrived at the benefit.  It is not the Hot 103 JAMZ party.  No, no it's not.  Instead it is a party in an art gallery in what appears to be a rundown area of downtown Kansas City.  It probably has a cute little name for that area of town but I live in the suburbs....and I pretty much stay there so I wouldn't know. 

Ohhhh, art gallery you might be saying to yourself.  Fun.  Fancy.  Wrong and Wrong.  It was a warehouse type building with no windows.  The door and the garage door were shut and there was NO......wait for it....freaking air conditioning!  That's right.  It's 100 degrees outside and a whopping 120 inside (said my internal thermometer).  And I am in jeans and a silk shirt.  Jeremy, while in shorts and a t-shirt, has a built in sweater of hair.  He is sweating through his shirt within seconds of entering the building.  I never sweat much at all due to my general lack of hydration related to my heart problems.  But I was moments away from sweat dripping down the crack of my ass.  You are welcome for the mental picture.

Jeremy heads straight for the keg.  I ask for water and am told.....wait for it...they don't have any water.  BUT I was generously offered a plastic cup of ice from the keg cooler (gag) and some water from the bathroom sink (double gag).  

We positioned ourselves in front of one of the 8-10 fans stationed throughout the "gallery" that are blowing the already hot air around the room.  Correction, Jeremy planted himself in front of one and myself and another couple tried to stand near him to see if we could catch any of it from around the sides of him.  Thanks honey.  After about 3 minutes I am ready to leave.  Jeremy on the other hand is ok to stay and chat with his friends.  I get that.  It's cool.  Ok, bad choice of words.  Rather, it's ok. 

No worries.  I'll just look at the boobs.  What,  you say?  That's right.  A large portion of the art on display are drawings of naked women.  Don't get me wrong, they were mostly tasteful and some of the non-boob art was actually really good, but if I wanted to look at boobs all  night I would have stayed home and looked in the mirror.  And winked at myself. 

And then there were the mannequins.  Naked female mannequins strewn throughout the gallery with the occasional purple crepe streamer wrapped around various body parts.  I am clearly not an artsy fartsy kind of person.  I'm plain jane.  I like normal food, bottled water, and air conditioning.  I like family pictures up on the wall.  I prefer boobs tucked safely into well-fitted bras.  So sue me.

So this plane jane told her husband that it was time to go.  Blame the bitchy wife.  I don't care.  I can own that role.  I play it well.  He obliged and we donated our $50 to Cheesecake Factory instead.

As Mandi put it:  "I have always hated cancer."