This weekend I’m heading out of town with one of my best friends for a girls’ weekend at the beach. I’ll be 3.5 hours away from poopy diapers, messes and spills, and having my personal space constantly invaded.
“Here comes trouble! Who’s covering your bail?” my stepfather-in-law asked when my husband mentioned the weekend getaway.
“You,” I answered.
It won’t be like that, though. Long gone are the days of going to clubs and getting shit-faced, party drugs, and generally getting wild around strangers.
Oh wait, those days never happened anyway, hence the difficulty in coming up with scenarios that could have had me calling someone to bail me out. The wildest thing I’ve ever done out and about is drink too much and walk like Frankenstein around the resort Sam and I stayed at for our honeymoon and wrap a beach towel around my head and offer fortune reading on the beach.
I imagine this weekend will be pretty laid back, and hopefully — in addition to catching up on some girl time — I’ll catch up on some reading. And, yeah, there will probably be a few drinks, but not in excess, since I don’t want to spend the following week feeling like crap. (And if I complain about feeling like crap, you’ll know I didn’t follow through on my plan.)
So, here’s to the girls’ weekend. In four days, good times shall commence.