Dear Las Vegas,I am greatly anticipating an extended girls’ weekend with my two closest female companions. In a few days I will throw some rags of tulle and ribbon, artificial eyelashes, and 4 inch leg extenders into a suitcase and board a 747 with hopes of a severe case of temporary amnesia on my real life. Put your arms around me, Sin City, and shower me with a cascade of laughs, cocktails, female bonding, and a few cute, chivalrous boys wouldn’t hurt things. Grant me a decent sense of ocular judgment during my trollops and for the love of Pete (or John, Mike or even a Tyrone) yield large amounts of testicular fortitude to prolong the euphoria. Book smarts can be overlooked if the outer package is impeccable, but BOTH qualities are preferred.
Allow me to don my most favorite party dresses and come-hither heels, and paint the town a deeper red than my favorite pair of Carlos Santana’s. Keep the men with arrogant/swollen egos, empty pockets, truth allergies, unibrows, AARP membership cards, hostilities, small.. (ahem… insert throat clearing) “packages” and, lastly, funky breath, at a safe orbital distance. This trip has been calibrated for months and to come home disappointed would be a crime in itself. The three of us felines are in dire need to lose ourselves in an out of body experience; let our hair down, throw caution to the wind and recharge our proverbial batteries.
Please do not let this house of cards, dice, slots, and jackpots fall into an abyss of monotony. Thank you for your kind consideration.
Yours very truly,
The Birthday Girl
No comments:
Post a Comment