I sort of had three last week. It was all for the
Occasionally there are days, weeks, when I'm feeling particularly... challenging... and instead of inflicting my fiery injustice upon my family, I simply leave the house. It's my special
"rehab". Sometimes I wonder aimlessly through Target, blissfully child free. I linger in the home decorating isles. I buy laundry soap without having to answer 678 questions, bribe someone to stay seated or sweetly ask them to PLEASE NOT STOP DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE CART. I take an extra moment look at books... or shoes. Sometimes I go to yoga and attempt to feel Zen while I try to ignore the people wearing loose shorts and the hairy man next to me that jams his crusty foot in my face during a supine twist. And other times I share drinks, stories and laughs with my girlfriends. This is my favorite way to blow off steam and regain a mild sense of decorum. No matter what the process, the end result is the same. I come home a slightly less crazy version of my former self. But only marginally functional, because totally sane equals boring in my book.
The last time I left the house alone it was to participate in a tequila soaked whitebread Mexican funeral themed ladies only night. All the gals were German-blonde or Scottish-redheaded and we all showed up at a Mexican restaurant wearing black. It was like a Stepford Wives funeral march while eating chalupas and talking about dicks.
We did not appear to be the most diverse group on the planet.
But we love all kinds!
*Okay, maybe not ALL kinds. Like, the homophobic guy with the watermelon sweater and the skin tone to match. We didn't love him.
After we were finished eating, we moved from our booth to the bar, so as to air ourselves out and smear our dainty grace and peaceful demeanor all over the other unsuspecting patrons in the restaurant. I think my single friends may have wanted to mingle with the opposite sex.
There were four seats between Ole' Watermelon Sweater and an attractive man to his right. There were five of us. After Sarah told him that we were spies, then amended that to "I mean, day care providers and preschool teachers", the attractive man kindly offered to move down so as to accommodate all of our demure group. Then he said, I don't know if you'll want to sit by me because I'm different. I answered, "You really have no idea how "different" we are." He looked at all the blond and red hair and seemed confused. I think he was referring to the fact that he was one of the four black people that lives in Ft. Collins and not a quirky personality.
Later, after the conversation was flowing and our magical, delicate laughter filled the room (we are a group full of brayers and snorters, people. And the volume is up to 11), he walked over to Sarah and I and asked how he could join our group. He begged. He pleaded. He immediately said that he could pretend to be gay, so as not to be a threat.
Sarah said, "Let me see your shoes."
He stuck out a foot clad in mediocre shoes.
I said, "Oh honey. That's gonna need a little work."
He asked if they should be pointy, to which Sarah responded, "They should be Italian."
I solemnly nodded in complete agreement.
Sarah looked him up and down and informed him that he was doing well with his bling, giving him the impression that things were looking up.
Then he asked if he should lisp.
I shook my head, "That's not necessary. Unless it makes you feel better." I said.
Sarah said, "Some of my gay friends do. Some don't." I nodded in agreement.
He looked sincerely shocked and said, "You really have gay friends?"
We were both like, "Duh."
Then he said, "I'll do anything to convince you that I can do this, just to hang out with you ladies."
I pointed down the bar and said, "Awesome. I'm going to need you to go hit on that guy."
And that my friends, is how you get rid of overzealous, unwelcome participants in your girls night out while maintaining dignity and grace. My single friends should probably stop hanging out with me. I'm chasing away their
Peace, Love and Rehab,