If you were out last Friday, you might have seen 6 moms (with 15 kids between us, soon to be 16) howling with laughter over beers and panini sandwiches. No subject was taboo. Think: anything that goes into or out of one’s crotch. No poor fashion choice was safe from snark. As the night went on, the shots came and went. The pitchers refilled by a waitress becoming more and more surly.
I have to say that I was in heaven. My heaven. I was surrounded by my bestest girl friends, drinking beer and laughing my ass off. Literally, I believe. My sides and abs ached for two days after and I doubt that it was the morning pool workout. I can’t even count how many times I (almost) wet myself. Funny thing is, I’m not sure I can say at the moment what, exactly, was so funny. Just girls being girls I suppose.
It’s been too long. We all vowed to do it again, make it a regular thing. Get the babysitters and raid the ATM. Put on the dark jeans, low neckline shirts and eyeliner.
I needed it. I needed it like breathing. I haven’t laughed like that in…years? Yes, probably years. Certainly before Stephen got sick and not since. I forgot about everything for a little while except that chick with the gold stilettos or the woman who looked like Kristin on Biggest Loser, earrings and all. If someone would have ponied up about five bucks, I would have asked for her autograph. I probably also would have gotten the phone number of a certain Alex Karev look alike with a little more prodding but it was just as well. Turns out his friends were thugs.
I needed it. Not the boozing (although that was a wonderful catalyst) but the friendship. I needed to know that I was alive again. That I was worth being around. That it isn’t all about the littles all the time.
And then Saturday came with two birthday parties (and two unfinished gift dresses). The house looked like it had been tossed by the mob and I hope they found what they were looking for because I am down one seam ripper, a cell phone charger and an entire box of tampons. Don’t ask. But I was dragging ass all day and I didn’t care. It was a different kind of tired and achey. It wasn’t the day and it wasn’t the kids. It was a pleasant kind of tired that only a night out at a dive bar can offer.
We are leaving on Friday. I have fifty-eleven things that need to be done before then and only a fraction that I actually want to do.
What I really want to do is go out again. I have a hard core jones for a good laugh. The kind that lingers even when the hangover is gone.
34 isn’t so bad. Not with friends like mine.