A Baker’s Dozen

My mom made me laugh the other day. Don’t get me wrong, she makes me laugh a lot, but on this particular day she told me about the women’s group she was invited to join.

Me: So, what’s new?

Mom: Not much. I’m going to lunch with a group of ladies tomorrow.

Me: Oh?

Mom: Yeah. We wear hats.

Me: Cool! You’re gonna be one of those red-and-purple ladies?

Mom: No. We wear baker’s hats.

Me: [silent, wishing I had a red-and-purple baker’s hat] Baker’s hats?

Mom: Yep.

Me: [waiting for an explanation since she’s not technically a baker nor a hat-wearer.] And?

Mom: It’s a group of ladies who got together a long time ago because they were the ones who used to put together the parties at a church. You know, baking stuff. [Or something. I was still trying to picture my mother wearing a baker’s hat.]

Mom: Are you there?

Me: Yep, still here.

Mom: We’re called the Baker’s Dozen. There can only be 13 of us.

Me: So you had to wait till somebody croaked to get a seat at the table? How delightfully morbid of you. Lights Out Lunches! Death Watch Dejeuner! Grim Reaper Get-Togethers! Passing Parties! Vittle Vigils! Buzzard Bait Brunch! Gone To Meet Her Maker Gala! Stone Cold Soiree! Worm Food Wingding!

Mom: [clearly awaiting the return of my maturity] No.

Me: Oh.

Mom: Well, yes. But my conscience is clear. The one I’m replacing moved away. They told us to be thinking about who we might want in the group as Louise is scheduled for surgery next month.

Next time we talk I’ll have to ask if the baker’s hats were black. With lace veils.

If you created a group of Ladies Who Lunch, what would you name them and what would they wear? But more importantly, would you invite me to join?