Cheers Ladies…

Last Saturday I got home at two-thirty a.m. Was it due to dancing, the country dive bar, or perhaps a gentleman? Nope. It was the chicks.

Construction Girl had a birthday of some note so the ladies gathered. Ages range from young thirties to well above that. Politics, business, the world in general, marriages, divorces, and Bravocon fill the night air. This girl walked away with a hookup for insurance at a better price and a Botox provider who says, ‘I got you.”

We’ll see if I go through with the Botox. One side effect of espresso martinis is bravery. In the light of day, I ponder Priscilla Presley; perhaps wrinkles are not the worst thing about my face. I have yet to travel the filler highway. Were it not for constant photography, I might never. But with every pic, the reaction is the same.

When did I get old? And, those are some impressive elevens. Except they’re not. I should be proud of the wrinkles I’ve earned and all that BS. Nope. I want them gone.

Heard of a bring-your-own-board party? Dolls–it’s a must. Each partygoer creates a board of their choosing. Circling Construction Girl’s massive marble kitchen island–she’s a builder–the eye is delighted with tacos, wings, candy, veggies, fruits, and pretzels hard and soft. A feast to be sure but a sight worthy of Bon Appétit.

Of course there is singing. Giving the cocktail course time to kick in, the girls are provided the lyrics to Thank You for Being a Friend. Hint: Golden Girls, are we sensing a theme? Construction Girl is placed on a high stool in clear view of everyone. Her sash reads “Elderly And Awesome.” It’s black to match our outfits. We didn’t call each other. It’s just a happy coincidence. Of course a crown is placed atop her head. All those years of children’s birthday parties have paid off. The music starts. A pink microphone is passed. It’s a Princess Party with espresso martinis. What could be better?

Gathered about the fire on the newly remodeled Lido Deck–the name of Construction Girl’s famed backyard–there is political debate that could teach Congress a thing or two. I tell the girl next to me how beautiful her hair is. We’re reaching women in a restaurant bathroom on a Saturday night level. But her hair is stunning. Then a voice calls out from the far side of the fire.

“Wait, I heard you went to Bravocon.”

“I did.” And off we go.

So why did it take a week to put it to paper? At first, I thought Sunday morning brought with it a hangover. When it was not abated by ten thousand calories of Mexican food, I thought perhaps it was coming home at two-thirty a.m. Nope. It was a root canal and the wrath of Amoxicillin. But that’s another story.