Bingo in Smoking

Since the release of National Treasure, which, sadly enough, inspired a very cold and snowy Spring Break trip to Washington, DC, I have been fascinated by secret societies. Is the whole world just one big conspiracy? Does the rat race really matter? And, most importantly, how does one go about getting in?

After extensive scientific research involving watching The Skulls, I determined that most secret societies are for men. This could mean any number of things (by which I mean probably only two): 1. Women are SO SECRETIVE about their secret societies that no one knows they exist at all. No mysterious phone calls in the middle of the night that would tip roommates off, no uncanny deposits of obscene amounts of money in bank accounts, no (visible) brandings… Yes, it could be that women really know what it is to have a secret society tucked away from human recognition. I imagine that if this is the case they sit around and, in a very Witches of Eastwick manner, use voodoo spells to make Paris Hilton vomit cherry pits.

But the more likely reason is that women – being a woman, I have license to hold this opinion – are generally not good secret keepers. Observe these ACTUAL transcriptions of conversations taking place immediately after ancient secret society meetings:

ANCIENT MAN 1: Avast, my friend! What hast thou accomplished this fortnight?

ANCIENT MAN 2: (having attended a secret society meeting the night before) Let me thinketh… last eve I joined in merriment of the World Cup with my fellow comrades with some spirits and painting my face in the way of the city state banner.

BOTH: GO SPARTA!!! ARGGGGG!!!

ANCIENT MAN 1: Glad tidings! Is that why thou lookst a bit hung over?

ANCIENT MAN 2: (knowing full well that he looks hung over because he was drugged and woke up hours later in a coffin) Yes.

Meanwhile…

ANCIENT WOMAN 1: Hermia? Is that YOU?

ANCIENT WOMAN 2: HELENA! I have not seen thee in many moons!

BOTH: Eeeeeeee!

ANCIENT WOMAN 1: What hast thou been doing as of late?

ANCIENT WOMAN 2: Ohmigod. We haveth this secret society now. It’s so LIBERATING! Why, last night we inducted Cleo and Terpsichore!

ANCIENT WOMAN 1: CLEO?! Thou art KIDDING!

ANCIENT WOMAN 2: Not at all! I don’t know if thou wouldst be interested, but I could putteth in a good word for you. We’d loveth to have you!

ANCIENT WOMAN 1: Really? You wanteth me to join your secret society? Thou art the biggest sweetheart EVER!

ANCIENT WOMAN 2: Just don’t telleth anyone I told you. I wasn’t supposed to sayeth anything.

ANCIENT WOMAN 1: Of course not! Except Perciphone, with whom I have no secrets.

ANCIENT WOMAN 2: Certainly! You knoweth what I mean.

Obviously, this difference is not conducive to having a female society that is, per se, secret. Therefore, I think it is high time that we put our differences aside and create a society that is exclusive and mysterious but is just well-known enough that membership is sought after. I have not yet thought of a name; however, if you think of one, you will be credited as a co-founder of the society, and – one day, when we get generous donations from our fellow members – your name will be on a plaque.

Furthermore, if you are interested in becoming a member of this society, please e-mail me and explain why you believe you would be a good addition to the group. There will be no discrimination; however, you should be aware that the initiation ritual (I dare not ruin the entire surprise) DOES involve a frozen bra.

And, okay, it involves making Paris Hilton vomit cherry pits. But that’s IT. I’ve already saideth too much.