Mommas, what do YOU do with freedom?

Apparently, Soul Sister and I have lost the hip, young, livin' on the edginess we used to exude because we didn't quite know what to do with our bad selves last night. I like to consider myself a true Fly-by-the-seat-of -my-jeans-kinda girl. I can store the 3/4 cooked meal I've been slaving over in 30 seconds flat if offered a dinner out. I can dig to the bottom of my bottomless purse to scrounge enough $$ for an I-gotta-have-it-or-I'll-be-the-scourge-of-the-neighborhood-if-you-dream-of-sayin'-no-ice cream-treat from the scary, is he a pedophile or just a desperate for a job freak slowing down to 40 mph in the van that is well past it's glory days before he rounds the corner. And I can switch roles of momma, wife and diva at the drop of a stinky sock.

Now even though I like to fantasize about my abilities and skills. Sometimes, reality hits me up side the big melon. That point was driven home last night.

You see, the Shooter fam had some hair-pin turns kinda changes to their plans this weekend and I ended up havin' a good ole fashion slumber party with Soul Sister. For three nights. With the added bonus of NO CRUMBS or HUSBANDS on one of them. We began the evening all giddy and gussied up to enjoy our newly found and very unexpected freedom only to realize our gumption had already up and went...without us.

Our plans of bar room line dancin', heavy drinkin' (which should have concluded with permanent Tramp Stamps a.k.a. tattoos) and jello wrestling actually turned into a much recommended Chick Flick starring Ashton Kutcher (now there's fine specimen of a young buck for ya) called What happens in Vegas (Which, by the way, was suppose to be our title for the rip roarin' evening we had fantasized about. - What happens in Plainsville, Stays in Plainsville Livin' in a town named Plainsville probably should have been the first clue?) and ending in a Girly-Bonding Chat at Starbucks.

And guess what my biggest disappointment of the evening was?

That it had to end.

I love my girlfriends.

I love the fact we were once the fair maidens. Now we are the matrons giving advice to our fair maidens. And one day, we will be the old crones squawking advice to anything that moves.

I've gained more wrinkles, my memory seems to have flown away with the clouds and certain body parts have given into gravity (really given in to gravity) - but my girlfriends still remain the same.

Strong, true, loyal and supportive.

Thank you girls. I love you.

Note to Soul Sister: I'm still contemplating what design I want for my permanent body marking. But don't get your hopes up, I think by the time I make up my mind I won't need courage, I'll need my daily dose of Ensure spiked with Geritol.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: When I'm a bossy old crone, what will you be? My croney? And don't think I don't know you just thought, "What do you mean when?!"