These are Da Goils. (Letter B, that’s me.) We’ve known each other forever.
We’re a diverse crew.
One of us lit a fart in high school. (Yes, you heard right. We’re a cultured bunch.) You wouldn’t BELIEVE the size of the blue flame that shot out of her arse, burning a hole right through her hot pink long johns.
One of us currently lives in Chile, teaching English to business people. She and I are the only ones who have never been married, although I think she’s close.
One of us peed on her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend while they were making out at a party. She was drunk and looking for the bathroom. They were lying on a beanbag chair in a dark room. Honest mistake.
One of us was valedectorian. And a closet pot smoker. And voted Most Likely to Succeed. And is now filthy stinkin’ rich.
One of us was editorial editor of the high school paper, which included her monthly column about high school life.
One of us drove a HUGE brown station wagon from the ’70s, affectionately referred to as the Coppertone Tank. It came complete with rear-looking seats in the ‘way back’ dedicated to her younger siblings.
Sometimes I do that — look at a photo and wonder, if our past selves were somehow given a picture of our future selves, would we be able to guess our paths?
Would we be able to guess who never got married? Who had three kids? Who had two or one? Or none? Who divorced and remarried? Who was the first to lose a parent? Who was the second?
Some of our lives have been predictable. Some, anything but. I take comfort in this. Because no matter the outcome, there’s nothing like old friends. At least not for me. I’m fairly certain that kind of bond is impossible to recreate after a certain age. I wouldn’t trade the memories for anything.
The photo above was taken at our 20-year class reunion in ’06 — a fateful occasion it turns out, because it was then we decided that come 2008, when we all turned 40, we were doing a girl’s trip. No husbands, no boyfriends, no kids. No excuses.
I can’t believe we’re actually going to pull it off.
Yessiroonie, this August we’ll all be basking in the toasty Hawaiian sun. (Uh, BURNING is probably more accurate for Mommypie.)
Getting everyone to agree on a destination took some time. We decided on Hawaii after each of us summarized our criteria in a sentence or two.
For instance, one wanted to be pampered, and to NOT have to cook. Another didn’t want to be locked into a schedule. And one didn’t want to travel out of the country.
My desire was simply to lie on the beach and have beautiful shirtless boys serve me drinks. And because I’ve become attached to the notion it’s just not vacation without a floating bar, that was added to the list as well.
Which I suppose means it’s time to bite the bullet and buy a new swimsuit.