Every once in awhile, every great, great while, I do something that I like to call: GNO. Girls night out. Generally we eat dinner, have a drink or two, throw our heads back and laugh, and talk about sex.
Last night it was something new. We tried that Painting with a Twist thing. You know, where everybody paints the same exact thing and then takes a picture. . . . . .
38 girls and 2 guys crowded into this room. The music was dance club, obscenely loud. And I'm guessing it was only to mask the 38 wine filled, estrogen overdriven, shrill screams that inevitably erupt from . . . nowhere. The 2 men were obviously dragged there. And I cried a little for them.
There is a reason that they encourage wine at this sorta thing. Participating in this activity, can cause abrupt waves of intense anger. The type of anger that makes you want to throw your dirty paint water in your neighbor's face. Followed by death jabs of paintbrush on: not-so-fine master piece.
The paintbrush, SOMEhow manages to do what it isn't told to do. And everybody knows it's not always the best choice to try to fix a painting when there is little experience involved. . . . . Even Ed knows that blue and yellow makes green. And green is never appropriate for snow. Except for my painting.
Minus the anger, it was fun. It wasn't great. It wasn't awful. It was just fun.
And then, the highlight of all highlights happened. *shudder*
It was time to go. I went over to the coat hooks, which were in an "L" formation. (I will also preface this with: my bottom is much larger than it normally is.)(baby weight) I started looking for my coat which ended up in a frantic search that lasted 1.462 seconds. I couldn't find my highly, desirable, brown Land's End jacket. (It was just buried by all the other not-so-small parkas) But in my frantic pawing, I knocked someone's gigantic power mitten out of their coat.
I bent my large bottom over and somehow, SOMEhow, managed to lose my balance. I did however, swing the main girth of my weight aka Mrs. Mcgillicutty aka my dimpled backside up against the wall to regain lost balance. Or, what I thought was the wall. Or, where the wall used to be. Or, the wall that was still there, but was hiding. I felt this odd sensation on my buns. Something that didn't quite feel like a wall. And feeling very confused, I literally put my back into "it". I put every ounce of lady lumps I own, and gave it an "all or nothing" but chose an "all" and slammed my goods (still bent over) into the wall that definitely was NOT a wall anymore. And still feeling very confused as to what was happening, I stood up, straight and tall - Carmen Electra style - all the while pushing every bit of my womenhood backwards. When I finally got to the upright position, there was a cozy, plush landing for my back.
And then, and ONLY then - did I realize that I had just given a man a lap dance. Somehow, in stealth mode - ONE of the 2 men that were there, decided to slip behind me for a simple coat grab - oblivious that an R-rated moment was about to happen on him and to him. There were no mysteries left to the imagination. ALL was experienced. We became one, if that is possible with your clothes on. (Which it is)
And then I left in a complete horrified stupor. And the pizza flag whipping in the wind, whipped my painting. My green snow painting.
Take Aways
1) If you're going to become familiar with a complete stranger, do it thoroughly and quickly.
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