I’m not sure if there is a precedent for the kind of all-out girl-fest that I have been lucky take part in over the last two weeks. Sure, I lived in a houseful of girls when I was in college. But it’s not until you’ve lived with a man that you really appreciate the camaraderie (and toilet seat benefits) of living in a house of women. Men love to misrepresent female cohabitation as a cross between underwear-only pillow fights, underwear-only cat fights, and PMS induced ice cream binges while watching ‘Thelma and Louise’ in a bathrobe. It’s not that those things never happen, it’s just that they aren’t as frequent or as unclothed as the men would love to believe. It’s much more complicated than that.
For example, on our first testosterone-free day we didn’t shut-in or disrobe at all. We headed out to the Garment District in L.A. and sorted through racks of crazy fashions that will someday find their way to boutiques around the world for a lot more money. And we ended up with matching gray, suede, moccasin boots. And a Bucca di Beppo bloat. The Garment District of L.A., where things can get weird.
But after that one day of fun in the city, we were exhausted. So exhausted in fact, that we didn’t leave the house except for trips to the gym and the grocery store for over a week. For real. We had tea, matching pajamas found on super-clearance at Target, and as many girly movies as anyone could ever want.
It’s not just us girls who are getting some bonding time without the menfolk around. Falcor and his new best friend Ryder, the biggest beagle around.