Estrogen Fiesta 2003
SueAndNotU has Memorial weekend plans, that have now been dubbed with the above moniker. 13 girls and one, poor, misbegotten boyfriend that will surely drown himself in agony before the weekend is over, will be hitting the beaches on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. For you Harper's readers, yes, these are the very Outer Banks that were featured in the recent memoir "Rolltop Mantra of the Outer Banks." I don't know much about Carolina, North or South [other than the fact that I must spin things around my head like helicopters], nor am I fully briefed on the beaches in this area, but I *do* know that we have a lovely beach house squatting right on the shore with 6 bedrooms, a jacuzzi, a pool, and all the trimmings. Furthermore, we'll be staying in an area with the absolutely smashing name of Kill Devil Hills, so I really fail to see where this weekend could go wrong. In fact, it might actually get into the upper 70s and AND! the sun is rumored to make an appearance! So there's a slim chance that I could A) put on a bathing suit without collapsing into hypothermia, and B) darken my skin from transparent to shockingly unhealthy! (Please imagine to yourselves how much I'd complain if I actually end up in Russia next winter rather than mild D.C.) I can't wait to flop onto the beach with a tower of books, or wander around avoiding crawly things, or sit on the deck with the barbecue grill raging. It will be a much-needed break and a welcome change of scenery. [But Sue-didn't you just go to Austin? Uh, yeah. Still. I'm tired again. I'm delicate.]
Those of you with Real World images of cat-fighting women in your minds might think that 13 women in one house for a long weekend is a ba-a-a-d idea. And you probably think that the girls will sit around wishing they had boys to flirt with. But to be honest, most of the ladies on this trip don't want to be waxing and plucking and polishing and curling and prancing and preening for the weekend. Most of the ladies bid farewell to the age of 21 a few years ago, and frankly, are tired. Everyone I talked to breathed a deep, cathartic sigh of relief upon hearing that it was a girls' weekend. No games, no pressure, just utter relaxation and slushy drinks with umbrellas. Oh, and pillow fights in our underwear. Of course.
It has been brought to my attention that I should have noted that the main reason I am not interested in boys running around my beach house is because I am deliriously happy in a marvelous relationship. My apologies to all concerned. I was trying to speak collectively of the group.