It was a normal Saturday night, really. A small group of neighbors and friends gathered to celebrate a surprise birthday for oh, let’s just call her Chrissy.
While Chrissy ate dinner with her spouse, the preparations began.
The mascara wands whipped out, panty hose pulled on (with the fun prints!), party dresses went over heads and accessories pulled the final look together. Oh, the hair. There were no mom buns or yoga pants because this is Chrissy’s party and Chrissy isn’t that kind of woman. Chrissy is not a plain woman. Oh no, Chrissy is extravagant and her friends were extravagant with her.
The hair was let down. Perfume sprayed. Cleavage up. Nails dry.
And out the door.
Did you know my husband wears a size large maternity dress from Target?
It was an evening with girlfriends. The men in our lives – gone, tucked away for the night. The real women, with soft skin and curvier hips, watched as the newfound women discovered their female identity.
I can’t write better than the words that came from the pretty mouths of men.
“Hey, do you think I need to touch up my number 5 lipstick while I’m in the bathroom? Will someone go with me?”
“Has anyone sat down to pee yet? It’s…it’s different.”
“My feet are killing me. These heels.”
“Did this wig come with lice? Do you always feel this hot behind your neck?”
“Are you still tucking back?”
“My wife doesn’t let me motorboat her. Will you let me? I’ve always wanted to do this.”
“Nip slip! Whoops!”
“Hi, my name is Scotti-with-an-i. Heart dot.” — “Hi, I’m Jamie.”
“You want to go to a Chicago Cubs game if they go to the World Series?” — “Might be expensive. Oh, they’ll pay for us to go if we give them a good lay.” (hand wave at wives)
“Let’s bring Chrissy to the Cubs game. She’ll score us free tickets in somehow.”
“Oh shoot. Forgot my purse at home. Guess someone needs to buy me a drink!”
“Can I have something fruity with vodka?”
“Oh my God! You can’t even taste the vodka in this!”
“I think we all agree that Ty looks the hottest. Hey, Ty! You’re going to be sore in the morning.”
“Did you have any idea how hot your husband looks tonight?”
“Ty’s so pretty. I’m kinda jealous of her now.”
“If Zeus was a lesbian, that is exactly what he’d look like. Kristy, the Roman Goddess, or something.”
“Oh no! I think I lost a nail! Has anyone seen my nail?”
“Metallic nail polish is in right now.”
“Look at this gown! And who are you wearing tonight?” — “The whole football team.”
“Jamie really brought tampons in her purse! What else you have in here?”
“Help me insert this tampon. Please.”
“Well, I can’t go back to the babysitter now. She didn’t see me leave the house. I can’t let her know I look hotter than she does right now.” (hair flip)
“I’m sorry, I can’t give you a hug goodbye. I’ve seen your penis too many times.”
“Ha! Her patty hose ripped. That sucks.” — “Did you know you can fix that with clear nail polish?”
“You need more number 5 lipstick. Have you heard of the number 5?” — “Of course I do! I watched my mom put on the number 5 growing up.”
“Cubbies grand slam! Yay!” (clapping and jumping)
“I’m so flat chested. This sucks. Your boobs look so perky, how did you do that? — “Shhh. It’s a nursing bra.”
“Let’s get Brazilians!”
“Can I see your phone?” — “Sure!” (pulls out phone from bra)
They say you’re supposed to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes before you judge them. These men walked in their wives’ shoes, bras, and necklaces for a night. And they were painful shoes.
They did it for the laughs and for the love.
It was a normal Saturday night, really. Happy Birthday, Chrissy. To many, many more.