What do nine women of varying ages and backgrounds do for a whole weekend in the country, away from family, jobs, responsibilities?
They talk, of course. They tell stories, they emote, they give gifts, they encourage, they cry. They share little personal pieces of themselves that are too scary to reveal in the Halogen brightness of regular life. They laugh, sometimes a little too loudly. They drink, sometimes a tiny bit too much. They walk and shop and eat and take turns holding L. Tiny, who makes them yearn, or mourn, or remember, or sometimes, just smile at her baby-soft beauty and contentment at being held up by a net of loving arms.
Except when we dropped her. At one point, Bucky was holding L. Tiny and sitting on the arm of an over-stuffed chair. The chair tipped and crashed, L. Tiny sailed up in the air while Bucky hit the floor. When the dust settled, Bucky was holding LT over her shoulder, murmuring comforting words to her, while some of us were suggesting that perhaps she should turn the scared, crying infant over to her mama. It was kind of hilarious how long she resisted the obvious.
These women are some of the most amazing, beautiful, accomplished, brilliant, and tender-hearted women in the whole entire world. Even our normally reviled bodily functions became a source of venerated wisdom and hilarity. Some of us delivered farts with such skill that they engendered our first candidate for catch-phrase of the weekend, submitted by our own Arid Queen. A moth flitted in through the open screen door, and she said,
"That moth is a metaphor for your farts. Get it OUT of here!"
I know, right? Catchy.
Before we turned into Nighty-Nighters, we sat up late, talking and laughing and cocktailing our way into the wee hours. As we talked and laughed, our on-site mixologist (Bob the Builder) mixed and poured. One by one, the morning glories faded away, and we learned who really had the late-night cajones: E. Peevie and Arid Queen.
The rest of you light-weights can sleep your whole lives away, but we've got stories to tell and laughs to laugh! Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Zonk.
Stay tuned for Vagina Dialogues, Part III.