Girl time.

Should be a national holiday if you ask me. Girl time is a necessity, a dose of sanity that doesn’t come in a pill bottle. If you’re a guy who is reading this, you may not understand, but keep reading. It will benefit you to know why we women get together over a glass of wine and talk for hours, sometimes about you, but not always. We also contemplate why haircuts cost so much, why we didn’t come up with the Skinny Girl Margarita ourselves, and how to lose the muffin top without actually doing a single sit-up.

So far, we’ve yet to solve the latter.

Today, I met my longtime high school friend for lunch at a restaurant near her office. It was a belated birthday for her, and we both, dangit, ordered salads while secretly hoping the other would be the first to order a steak. Never happened. So, a bowl of lettuce it was, and not a single scrap of cheese. Not sure about you, but the idea of fat-free honey mustard didn’t have me doing cart-wheels. It’s kinda like eating cake without the icing. Or pasta without the sauce. So, I kindly asked for a different dressing, and my friend did the same. No big deal. No weird requests to have our sunflower seeds sprinkled on only half the salad, or the seeds removed from our cherry tomatoes.

Long awkward pause.

Mr. Waiter had no expression on his face whatsoever, so he was either A) Confused B) Mesmerized by our beauty or C) not in the mood for two salad-eating chicks who make changes to their order, so I smiled and tried some humor, stating ’We’re high-maintenance, huh?’ And you know what?

He agreed.