Girls' Weekend

What makes a girls' weekend? Friends of mine head to some city of ill-repute, drink it up, make up names perhaps, and maybe "enjoy" a night of ,Thunder Down Under.

In a past life, well over a decade ago, I saw Thunder Down Under once. That was one time too many. A bunch of buff, yeah, but sleazy men in speedos getting partial erections while dancing with each other. Then, they head out into the crowd to dance with the ladies, picking the least attractive and most desperate women out there as their partners, with a distinctive pointy way that only sweaty, scantily clad, aroused men are capable of. The rest of the evening is spent in a torturous silent entreaty to not attract the attention of anything fleshy and failing any test of flacidness.

But the promise of sexually confused erotica is not the only thing that may define a girls' night out. I remember chocolate was definately a part of any estrogenic gathering. A rousing conversation about custom-made Sherman traps was a sure-bet if I had enough Rum 151 in me. If we were out in public, there was always a good chance of a man attempting to woo us into his waiting limosine as he plied us with a doctored photo of a baby with a gorilla's head pasted above its shoulders (for the record, it didn't work, but did make him memorable).

Honestly, though, I haven't had many girls' nights out. It may have something to do with my inebriated affection for Sherman traps, I admit. So when Hubby left on Saturday morning for Elko to watch Stardust return to Earth, the four of us girls had to make up our own rituals for an all-ovarian weekend.

Thunder Down Under was definately not an option. Nor was alcohol, or lecherous species-confused men. That left chocolate.

Hubby can't eat chocolate, or a lot of protein, so we took advantage of his absence and ate a large Mexican bean-and-meat-filled lunch and baked a chocolate devils food cake, with chocolate fudge icing, and chocolate sprinkles. I let the little girls design the confection, which included a Valentine heart Peep on top. Of course, a cake that decadent needs candles to lick the icing off of, so we added four birthday candles to blow out while singing "Happy Girls' Weekend To Us."

It was a wonderful day, and is the custom when tucking in for the night, I asked the girls who can talk what they wanted to dream of. N said "this day." One of those rare perfect days worthy of dreams.

This morning, we had a small hike out in the desert, where I was able to talk for a brief moment about Sherman traps while checking out a kangaroo rat warren. Girls' night continued, without the need of rum.