You know that look of terror and astonishment people get on their face when they see their world crumbling down upon them? Last weekend I caused two young women to give me that look and flea. I met a pair of Charger Girls.
While at the Saddleback Foundation Gala, two Charger Girls made an appearance and were selling and signing calendars of themselves. Can you imagine my delight? I love self-important people. I love that they brought in pictures of themselves in bikinis and were open for signing their own boobs all night. And I wasn’t the only one.
For reasons other than mine, middle-aged men were practically lining up to talk to them.
That was golden opportunity number two. I was the Lariat photographer for the event so I took the liberty of taking snapshots of the Charger Girls and their adoring fans. I was utilizing “my fly on the wall” tactic to approach my subjects and as soon as my flash went off the men’s faces turned from glee to guilt. After one picture I turned to the reporter and laughed, “Yo, their wives are going to be pissed when they sees this.” The men, on the other hand, did not laugh.
While I was guarding my bid at the silent auction the girls walked over and began talking about how they wanted it.
We introduced ourselves (they didn’t give their last name because they said that Charger Girls were not allowed to for security reasons) and talked about our roles at the fundraiser. I half-way jokingly told them not to bid on my item and asked them a bit about being Charger Girls.
Since we identified ourselves as reporters they kind of went along with my questions. Then I started joking with them about bringing pictures of themselves to sign and about how old dudes loved them.
Too far. The thing about the self-important is that they take themselves very seriously. Hi. You’re talking around a semi-formal event in matching track suits, tennis shoes, and a full face of stage make-up. Lighten up.
After a night of celebrity treatment, not laughing at my pokes at Charger Girl-ism was a bit too humbling. Maybe I’d get better perspective if I went to everything underdressed and signed slightly risquÃ© photographs of myself for a small fee. What? Bad idea? Clearly you are not a middle-aged man.