The Babysitters Club

(Madeline regales us with one of her infamous celebrity-encounter stories while her date Sage, Heart and Max, Mars, and Beth listen intently.)

There’s a moment from late Friday night at the slumber party that keeps sticking with me. I can’t think of it without feeling a warm glow from my toes to the tops of my ears.

It was late at night, folks were feeling more settled in, almost comfortable in the awkward excitement. The air was hazy from the weed, the bubbles had been flowing all night, prosecco and Perrier juice in pretty pink glasses. I’d missed this, the chatter and over-sharing. I’d missed Kitten loudly reminding us she was “a Top now” as she spilled lewd details from her latest date, I’d missed Ms.O’s delighted “uh huh?” when a pretty girl asked for what she wanted, I’d missed Piper acting out bad sex-party anecdotes and Mars’s twinkling eyes as she shared something exciting, just louder than a whisper. But one moment squeezed my heart with all the things I’d missed most of all…

I was cuddled up to Max on the couch, her arm around me. The parlour was full of faces I’d missed, the storytelling was a buzz of giggles and lilted voices. Anna selected a cordless hitachi from the hearth and casually stated her intentions; that she wanted to be mostly ignored while she masturbated in the middle of the room. She requested Ms.O sit by her side, O happily obliged and helped her get some pillows in place. As per her request the conversations continued all around her while the hitachi added to the buzz and Ms.O stroked her hair. “Is there anything else you need?” O asked, sweet like syrup. “She’s like, my orgasm doula,” Anna reflected.

Somehow the conversation steered to Anna’s harsh but fair critiques of The Babysitters Club’s book series and how they clumsily introduced race and disability in their introductory chapters EVERY TIME. I was a huge Babysitter’s Club fan, turns out most of us were, and Anna doing an impression of the author’s not-so-subtle descriptions of Claudia’s “exotic” Asian heritage (while she masturbated) had me snort-laughing.

Madeleine chimed in, “Did I ever tell you guys about the time in grade school when I met Ann M. Martin?” I fucking love Madeleine’s celebrity stories, a genre of their own. We pressed her and egged her on, not that she needed it. Anna’s hitachi buzzed and we leaned closer while Madeleine explained that she and a friend were selected to ask the author questions at a bookstore signing. A true honour!

The Babysitter’s Club books often included handwritten “letters” the characters had written, each with very distinctive printing styles. Madeleine and her friend wanted to know how the author had created the letters. They had theories of course (a running favourite being that she sourced them out to children she knew) but they were curious about how Professional Authors go about this sort of thing.

Please picture little Madeline and her bookish friend confronting a road-weary Ann M. Martin with this question only to be CRESTFALLEN when she hastily replied that one person did all of the different characters writing, next question. One person? ONE PERSON? The whole room of grown lingerie-clad adults gasped, Madeleine was buoyed by our collective disappointment and continued with details of how much Ann M. fucking Martin had let her down.

Anna was still masturbating while Madeleine segued to the 1980’s television show of the same name, which I said I didn’t recall. When she started singing the theme song “Say hello to your friends…” I jumped in without even thinking “Babysitters Club! Say hello to the peeeople who caaaaaaaare!” I didn’t remember the show but it was there, deep in the recesses of my mind. We harmonized and I laughed so hard tears streamed down my face. Anna moaned. Someone spilled prosecco. What the fuck is life really?

When I was a kid I wanted to start my own Babysitters Club so badly. I loved organizing and connecting. I had journals and notebooks filled with fliers, ideas, plans for this sisterhood I desired. I had plans for our meetings, and special celebrations. Plans for fun surprises I might create, or ways we might support each other. As happy tears rolled down my cheeks I looked around this warm room of brilliant women, all from different walks of life, all with different handwriting, I realized (in some perverse way) I’d done it. And maybe that was the drinks talking to me, bubbles can do that to a girl, but it made sense in that moment. And I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

I’m so lucky to have found my Coven, and I’m so grateful we can be together again.