Front Porch Tearoom In Perry, GA

I'm thinking that the Front Porch Tearoom in Perry, GA has never had an ass as hairy as mine sit in their chairs. In fact, I'm sure of it.


I had shorts on but you know what I mean.

Girly, girly, girly. But being diverted to the Front Porch Tearoom for a late lunch/early dinner hors d’ oeuvres was a ton better than shopping the rest of Boutique Hell. I mean Carroll Street.

You know what else? I figured out why I love women. I don’t mean like in “Big Love” but women in general.

--Women make ordinary things beautiful. Like a table in a restaurant. You can have a table with a tablecloth. Or you can have a wedding’s dress worth of frills and lace on EVERY table. You can drink a cup of tea, or you can have a ceremony around a cup of tea.

--Women communicate information with each other telepathically. I’m sort of jealous about this superhero power and wish I could do it. I caught a look between our waitress and my wife as I was ordering that was a Wikipedia’s worth of information about the hapless state of my general maleness. It was part empathy, part pity, part I-Have-One-At-Home-As-Stupid-As-Yours, part He’s-A-Good-Guy-Once-You-Get-Past-The-Rough-Exterior, and part pride (like maybe of ownership since I was sitting in a tearoom with approximately 10 other ladies looking me over like I was an exotic monkey from Surinam).

--Women are complex. Probably more complex than an airplane engine or the comm center of a nuclear sub. There was nothing in the Tearoom that would lead you to believe that guys had ever been in there. I might have been the first. But sitting on the piano was sheet music for Nelson Eddy, who had a long-time romantic, love affair with his duet partner, Jeanette McDonald while being happily married to his wife. Women and marriage and illicit romance. It makes my head swim. On the wall, over our table, was a series of paintings, each entitled “Georgia Peaches”, by Michael Bradwell, of different voluptuous girls in different peach farm tableaus. They practically dripped peach juice onto our table. A sly wink to women’s sexuality on display in a prim and proper Victorian tearoom environment? Are women just plain crazy, then? I think I read somewhere that Victorian women were responsible for some of the hottest sex the planet has ever seen. I can see that.

--Happy women do stuff for you. You wouldn’t think that having a cup of the soup de jour (Chicken Tortellini—with the spices in the right place) and a Chicken Salad ( flavored with a special blend of spices and garnished with sliced fruit and pecans and served on a fresh bed of mixed greens) and glasses of cool, sweet peach tea would make a woman insanely happy. But it did. And I ate and drank and pretended it was a draft PBR and bacon cheeseburger nodding my head at the happy, insane patter knowing good things were in the air.

Isn’t that what tea parties are for? Pretending the old, good times never left?

Yes, ma’am, I think I will have another glass of peach tea.