Girl’s Weekend

Three of us have been talking about getting in a car, finding a town where no one knows us, spending the night and whoopin’ it up.  We’ve been talking about it for a month or more but we keep getting bad weather.  Perhaps we’ll be able to go in July at this rate.

Anyway, one of the girls has a really great guy friend and he happened to hear us talking and asked “Why can’t I go on your girl’s weekend”?  I should tell you that he is one of those guys you could look at all day.   Good looking, great teeth, smiles a lot and is very witty.  We call him our eye candy and I am his stalker.  I’m okay with that.  Back to his question… has given us weeks of entertainment.  Not only have we been teetering back and forth on whether we should actually put him in the trunk and take him with us but also what would happen if we did.

This whole concept came to a climax on Sunday.  The four of us happened to be sitting around chatting and the girl’s weekend came up.  We again started in on what would happen if we took the lone gunman with us.  Two of us went off on a massive tangent.  As you read the conversation below imagine it happening with progressing laughter, at a decibel like non other and us crying most of the way.

Me:  “Can you imagine what shape he would be in when we brought him back?  You know, dirt smeared everywhere, draggin’ a leg.”

Her:  “Oh my, you’re right.  A cast on his leg, his pants shredded to the knee.”

Me:  “An eye patch, oh yeah, he would be wearing an eye patch!”

Her: “One arm in a sling!”

Me:  “Oh, oh, one of those collar things, you know, the things they put on dogs so they don’t lick their wounds!”

Her:  “A cone, oh shit a cone, how funny would that be!!”

Me:  “Leg in a cast, arm in a sling, an eye patch and a cone!!!”

Her:  “Oh, oh, oh, and his shirt buttoned wrong!!!!”

Me:  Uncontrollable laughter.

Her:  Tears, uncontrollable laughter.

Me:  Incoherent English.

Her:   Through tears, “He should have something wrong with that pretty face, oh, a rug burn on his nose”

Me:  “How did he get the rug burn?”

Her:  “Who cares!!  He has it and there’s more where that came from!”

Me:  Doubled over, can’t breathe, tears streaming down my face.

Imagine the original conversation taking probably seven minutes or so and containing massive fits of laughter.  The other two were attempting to set up something on a phone so weren’t paying attention to us completely.  When they were done being all techie we reenacted our conversation which took another 15 minutes or more.  Our laughter had only intensified during the remake.

I know girl’s weekend will happen.  I have no idea whether the lone gunman will come with us.  If he does, I cannot guarantee he will return in one piece, or return in the car or the trunk or if he will even be lucid when we drop him off at home.  I make no promises other than sore stomach muscles from laughing and that we’ll all make it home, one way or another.

I’m fairly positive I will not be able to write a story about it under my own name.


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