No tantrums evident as 'toddlers' gather

By LENNIE BENNETT

© St. Petersburg Times,
published August 26, 2001

Can you say "second childhood"?

Edie Spies and Sharon Clayton-Keller gave new meaning to the phrase at a party Wednesday for their gal pals. Everyone was required to dress as a toddler.

The guests' arrival at the St. Petersburg Yacht Club startled more than a few of the regulars sitting at the bar at 4 p.m. (No, guys, you were not hallucinating: That really was Mary Wyatt Allen as a Takamatsu Batboy.) This was a women-only party, but so compelling were the costumes that a number of men followed guests up the stairs to behold the scene in the ballroom.

Try to picture it, the core planning group of almost every gala in town sucking on pacifiers and attacking each other with squirt guns.

"It's to raise our spirits before we all have to start working again," said Mrs. Clayton-Keller.

She was a vision in a curly blond wig and short dress puffed out with crinolines that Cindy Weatherby ordered through eBay from a square-dancing group. Mrs. Weatherby is known for carrying bottles of bubbles around to relieve tension or heighten jollity, and I must say it works. The first time I met her, she blew grape-flavored bubbles in my face that made dessert unnecessary. For this party she carried what must be the Uzi of bubble guns, a rapid-fire number that unleashed enough soap suds for a bath.

Co-hostess Mrs. Spies opted for informality, choosing pajamas and Mickey Mouse slippers, as did Terry Ray, Barbara Zaccaria, Hugh Ann Cason Kelly, Bernice McCune, Betty Polfer and Lenne Nicklaus-Ball.

The word for Sally Poynter was fetching. She bought a navy jumper (girls size 12 at Target) to which she sewed pink rick rack trim.

Diane Winning's attire invoked multiple literary references. Her synthetic chiffon dress, turquoise with white polka dots, was Betty Boop; pantaloons, Little Bo Peep; and a heart-shaped hat made of the singing flowers from the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland.

In what has to be a first in the category of matching mother-daughter outfits, Mary Koenig and Loretta Rooney wore matching diapers, though Mrs. Rooney had tucked a small bottle of Beefeater into hers.

Celma Mastry, one of the best-dressed people anywhere, tried valiantly to honor the dress code, pairing her black patent leather Ferragamo flats with lace-trimmed white socks, but what 4-year-old do you know who would be allowed to wear a St. John suit while being served Spaghettios? (It should be noted that, in the spirit of the theme, she wore her St. John camellia on top of her head rather than on her suit.)

But back to the Spaghettios. A quantity of them floated around in a chafing dish as the piece de resistance of a buffet that included peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chicken fingers, inexplicably without ketchup. The punch was ladled into baby bottles and sippers from a silver bowl and, expecting something pre-K, I took a long draw and was jolted by the presence of rum. It seemed to bring out the inner child in a lot of us as the afternoon wore on.

Verda Watson entered wearing a baseball cap but insisted, "I'm not a boy. I'm a tomboy." (With French nails.)

Connie Whitehead's playday outfit was compromised by some serious diamond jewelry on her fingers and arms and neck.

Catherine McGarry arrived looking as if she'd had issues with her mother's makeup drawer, a situation somewhat ameliorated by a lot of water directed her way from squirt guns.

Things heated up during musical chairs. Joann Barger was an early casualty, as was Maritza Smith. I am not sure who emerged the winner in the final melee, but Candy Scherer, Patsy Dunlap and Margaret Word Burnside were formidable competitors.

Throughout the party, Paul, the veteran Yacht Club server, maintained his characteristic grave mien, dishing out nursery food as if it were fois gras. But as I left, he opened his hand to reveal a bunch of the club's chocolate-covered mints.

"Candy, little girl?" he asked.

The poem Warning by Jenny Joseph has become the cri de coeur for many women of a certain age. The oft-quoted beginning lines, "When I am an old woman I shall wear purple with a red hat," inspired a group of women in California to form the Red Hat Society, whose purpose was "to greet middle age with verve, humor and elan." And to meet regularly for lunch or tea, always wearing purple dresses or suits and red hats.

The idea has traveled to other communities, including our own St. Petersburg. Louise Carroll, Irene Huber, Christine Joyal and Charley Williams are charter members of the local chapter of the Red Hat Society, calling themselves the Red Hat Mammas, and if you happened to be in the Columbia restaurant on the 17th, you would have seen them converge in their signature garb.

(Is this the month for women wearing conspicuous outfits en masse?)

Mrs. Carroll said her group, which now numbers eight, plans to meet on the fifth Thursday of the month, whenever that happens, though "we'll probably wind up meeting more often. There are no rules; it's just for fun, but you have to admit to being 65 or older."

She said several hundred chapters exist, including one named the Godivas.

"They're nudists," said Mrs. Carroll. "I guess they just wear red hats."

I am off on Wednesday but look for the sixth annual On the Town Social Calendar to come out Sept. 2. There's going to be a whole lot of shaking going on this year.

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