Girls' Weekend

For the first time in forever, I’m going away for a girls’ weekend. I’m excited, nervous and a bit concerned I’m stepping into a women’s fiction novel—and considering the current book I’m reading is about three women who go away for a weekend, and then decide to stay away and reevaluate their entire lives, my concerns might be justified. However, as I’ve assured my husband, it’s four days (the term “weekend” is used loosely and only because one happens to occur during the time I’m away) and I have a round-trip plane ticket, so I’m definitely coming back. He may or may not have been slightly disappointed, and has already asked Banana Girl what kind of cookies she’d like for breakfast. 

I’ll be spending the time with my two best friends from college. While I’ve seen them on and off over the years, this is the first time the three of us are going away together since we graduated a very long time ago. We’re going to one of my friend’s lake house. This lake house has taken on the status of nirvana. Anytime anyone has had a crisis or a “Calgon, take me away” moment, she’s said, “Let’s go to my lake house.” She lives for the weekends during the summer when it’s her turn to go there—she shares it with multiple members of her extended family—and when I suggested the three of us get together, she cleared her family lake house calendar and that became our destination.

Apparently, I’ve been to this mystical place, but other than a memory of really badly marinated steak (hey, the directions say marinate for an hour, so lets marinate it overnight and see what happens), I can’t picture it at all. I don’t even remember going there or why. I’m told there was an argument over my desire to buy too much ice cream and that we watched Cary Grant and Robert Downey, Jr. movies. No clue, but who ever heard of too much ice cream? I’m going to blame my complete lack of memory on the mystical aura surrounding this place, rather than my being old. Go with it.

The lake house has no Wi-Fi or cell service for my phone, unless I want to walk a few hundred yards down the road, where I’ll probably be eaten by bears—did I mention this lake house is in the middle of Missouri? There’s a house phone and after begging, I was given the number. I’ve passed it along to my husband, and kindly suggested that unless there is blood or death, he shouldn’t use it. The Princess thinks I’m crazy and stepping into a horror movie, where I’m going to end up murdered. Banana Girl thinks this sounds awesome—I’m hoping she’s talking about my getting a chance to hang out with my friends, rather than being murdered. Or maybe she’s just excited about cookies for breakfast.

What I do know is that the snark is going to fly—we are experts. There is no problem we won’t be able to solve with chocolate, ice cream and wine. And powering down for four days is probably a good thing.

Oh, and now that I’m older and wiser, NO ONE is telling me I’m buying too much ice cream.