We choose a restaurant we cannot usually afford, drink the cocktails we would normally avoid, eat the foods we've been dying to try, and then head for the club. Dancing follows and sometimes it's sexy. Any of you who have ever had one too many drinks and went dancing will know what I mean by "sometimes it's sexy". There is a fine line between dancing queen and whore on the floor. Been there, crossed that, kicked my own ass the next day.
The latter part of the evening is typically spent with one of us (me) saying very Un-Real Housewife like things such as:
- "Honey, stay away from him. It's a club and he's in a pin striped suit and an ascot. He's wearing wingtips for love of... Jesus, I think he just sparkled. He's not one of us. I'm pretty sure he's a vampire. End of. Let's go. No, don't give him your number!"
- "Yes, we'll go as soon as you throw up. You are not riding with me like this. Go."
- "Get a picture. She's never going to remember this."
- "If you put that picture on Facebook I will kill you. I live close enough that it could be the last thing you ever do."
- "I don't know where she went. I told her to go throw up, but she's not in there now. I don't know how she slipped past me. Oh, I think I see her feet. Sweetie? Get off the floor. You're not napping here."
- "Oh good, the creepy guy is gone. Sh*t, where is _____. Someone find her before she's bitten or invites him in."
I will say this much, we always have fun and even in our chemically altered states manage to be friends the next day. I wish we could do it more often and that it didn't always have to be a Saturday, but like Vicki would say, "I work, people."