Pillow Fights in our underwear. Breast comparisons.Makeovers and hairstyles. Dance Parties. My-Man-Has-The-Most-Faults Contests. Gossip Marathons. Jump Rope. Tea Parties. These are things that don’t happen on Girl’s Night. Sorry to disappoint you, guys.
It’s time someone told you men the truth. From all of us women who are lucky enough to find that one great guy that’s perfect for us, thank you, wonderful men, for being there, for supporting us, for loving us, and for being our best friends. We love you. But there’s one thing that’s missing from our relationships. One need that you will never be able to meet. Before you get your pride all twisted into machismo-hunter/gatherer-knots and start pounding on your manly chest, it’s not something you want to do. But just to be safe, I have to say it, for all of us…you will never be our girlfriends.
When you’ve finished your collective sigh of relief, or manly snort, or whatever you have to do to let us know that you already knew that, let me tell you why girlfriends are so important to us. Women are different from men. Wow. Profound, I know. Mars and Venus aside, it’s a simple reality.
You would think that’s all that needs to be said. But believe it or not, there are men and women out in this grand world of ours that don’t understand why it’s so important for us girls to connect with one another. There are even husbands who get downright angry when a girlie opportunity presents itself to their obviously completely indispensable wives. I know you’re all shaking your head at that. But it’s true. Sad but true.
See, most of us girls don’t try to be the buddy that understands how engines work. We don’t really care what the high score is on Xbox, and we only pretend to be interested when you show us how great your fantasy baseball team is doing. We don’t expect our guys to pretend that they care about how well the conditioner is working on our split ends, what celebrity couple’s marriage just took an anticipated nosedive, or how cute that kitten really is. And guess what? We women are pretty much okay with that! And please, I mean no offence to you cool women who know how to fix engines, or you men who actually use more than a bar of soap on your hair. We’re all different, and I would never presume to speak for everybody.
All this is to introduce my Canadian girls. One night a week, I hang out with some cool women. We take turns showing up in one another’s yards and do shady stuff. I hope you're ready, men, because this is where I will reveal the main purpose of Girls Night. Brace yourselves. Here's where you say "I know what she's gonna say. It is about underwear, I just know it is!"
What do we do on girls night? We enjoy one another’s company. Blink. Blink. What? That’s it? Boring, you say? Hardly!
We five women (who sometimes get three others to hang with us) pour a drink (or six) and become girls again, not worrying about the stuff we’ve had to stress about all day. We’re too busy laughing, making fun of each other, or dancing in the rain to pay attention to the ‘normalcy’ of life. We daydream, tell stories, and wonder aloud about how all of us came to live in Lanark County and managed to find each other to form this special group. And sometimes shady stuff happens in the midst of all these conversations. But it’s just girl stuff, boys. You know, periods, perms and estrogen. You wouldn’t be interested.
I plan on speaking of my girls often. But as any responsible story tell will let you know, here is my disclaimer: Any story I tell about Girls Night may be exaggerated. I just thought I’d throw that out there, you know…just in case. But equally, I guess I’d better tell you that our cast of characters may include Fluffy, Muffin, Vanilla, Cutie or Roxie. Yes, these are their real names. No, really. No name changing to protect the guilty here, nope, uh-uh, Occifer, sir.
So have I revealed all about Girls Night? Come on now, you know the saying. What happens on Girls Night… I will tell you this though. It never has anything to do with our underwear. Well, almost never.
There was this one time, when we liberated a certain piece of clothing from our bodies to decorate a cedar tree for the night. And then Roxie bought magic boobs in a box that defy gravity, but those are stories for another day. I’m still a little fuzzy on all the details, and the girls aren't finished with their depositions, I mean - uh, their diaries.
Ladies, if you can’t remember the last time you had a great time with your chicks, call them. Make a date. Laugh with them. You won’t regret it.
