Girls Night Out!

The scene: any upper-middle class restaurant and bar in a south suburban shopping mall.
The setting: dimly lit, except for the company who were moderately lit, but well on their way.
The cast: The Queen, Andretti, the Stranger and Badzilla. Four very different, but oh so very similar women with whom I know in various ways, but sadly not carnal ways (well simultaneously anyway). Oh, and me.
I arrived unsuspectingly after a cold and chaotic work-week. It seems something was in the air as the women shared the same sense of relief for Friday evening as I. My plan was to surprise the cast with being the only X chromosome (or is it Y? - I'm never quite sure)... My plan was to surprise the cast with being the only penis at the table (that I'm certain of, well maybe not certain), and thereby crashing their evening.
I immediately realized I was out numbered, yet entered the den anyway with the thought that my man-view and padded-seat residency would keep them from 'being themselves'. So naive. When the number of women is four times the number of men, the tales told don't politely dwell on defensive schemes and car repairs. No. And to be quite honest, the tales told don't dwell on any one topic long enough for my attention-challenged brain to tune in, acknowledge and respond.
My head was on a spindle, turning as if I was tracking a tennis match on a double-decker court. My ears became sensitive to the slightest tonal change toward creating emphasis. My facial expressions swiftly adjusted between surprise, concern, understanding, amazement and joy... even if I never new what was being said.
I heard about the perils of shopping while drunk and learned the difference between Nordstrom (no possessive 's' I'm told), Macy's (possessive 's', go figure) and Neiman-Marcus. I also got the skinny on whose relationships were rocky, soiled and otherwise ruined. Oddly, none of these relationship alert levels involved anyone actually at the table.
While I felt acceptance among the hairspray and make-up set, I knew this conversation wasn't the no-holds barred kibbutzpalooza it could have been. Certainly I was infringing upon expulsion of the really salacious content. I could appreciate my limited membership into this soiree, but I knew the real fun wouldn't begin until I left.
With that I excused myself, gave hugs all around and made my way back home. It was good to spend some time with friends and all, but an evening watching a DVD with the wife was the perfect nightcap. Plus, it was something I could understand. Animated talking cars.