Dena Marie

My new friend Dena Marie is disappointed with my pool playing. To be fair, I never told her I could play pool, just that I would. Growing up in Texas must have led Dena to assume every little girl learns the basics of the game by the time they turn 13. I could see the distress on her face when she realized there would no competition, but she finally gave up and just played both sides, winning nicely I believe, but I really know nothing about pool. Perhaps it might have been better if we had gone there before happy hour, I don’t know, but Dena’s a lot of fun when she’s drunk and I don’t think she’s inclined to hold a grudge. She’s taking me shopping today, a sport in which I happen to excel. I need some things since I’m staying in Denver a few more days. Yes, I know I could do laundry, but where’s the fun in that? Dena Marie doesn’t like me to use her full name because she says it is soooo redneck. She has a brother and a sister with redneck names too, but I’ve forgotten what she said when she yelled them out at the bar last night. She does a lot of yelling cause she’s from Texas, where girls are allowed to spit, belch, and fart in public. Well, not in church ya know, but certainly outside the hotel in the smoking area. The man who was panting around us the first night we hung out together said I was “elegant”. I’m not sure what that meant exactly, but I guess it has something to do with those ladylike qualities my mother beat into me; speak softly, don’t scratch, keep your legs together when you’re wearing a skirt, and a lot of other crap that I mostly do automatically now.

Dena is a self-made woman. She travels most of the time doing training for a phone company (not naming names). She’s young and single, has no college degree, but ever so clever, the kind of woman who makes things happen. She’s got her own style and while it is as different from mine as day from night, but we compliment each other nicely. The tomboy I used to be is not far below the surface, although my clothing choice for business is definitely not jeans and a tee shirt. Dena, seeing me there in my high heel boots and silk blouse, made a half assed stab at apologizing for being herself. I told her she was delightful. I didn’t tell her I secretly wished I had the nerve to go into a bar and make a scene, but I think she knows. We’re headed out to find a mall in a few minutes. I’m going to buy some Denver clothes, tight jeans and high top flat heel boots, only I will be getting something feminine to wear underneath. I’m thinking that Dena needs a little black dress and a place to wear it. I’ll keep you posted.