It all began with our biweekly Friday night girls movie night. The event was every other week because the four of us, Casie, myself, LouAnne and Tina, hoped that the other Friday nights would be occupied by dates with men. We met for these girl’s nights in the mother-in-law basement apartment Casie and I shared with Loopy, whom I’d acquired as a kitten my last year of college.
We were watching a three-hankie chick flick, drinking wine and snacking on low fat fig bars when LouAnne started bemoaning how only beautiful women got what they wanted. That topic was one of our perpetual themes, but that night Casie surprised us by nipping our malcontent in the bud.
“Bullshit,” she announced with gusto, leaping from the couch to stand before us, hands on hips.
LouAnne lowered her chin, glaring over her glasses. “Excuse me.”
“Bullshit, I say,” Casie leaned over so she was inches from LouAnne’s face. “Look at us, we’re always crying about not having men in our lives, but look at how we spend our time. Watching so-called beautiful women attracting so-called beautiful men on movies.”
“What’s your point?” LouAnne asked, thin lipped.
I recognized the look on my best friend’s face. That impish sparkle in Casie’s eyes said, I’ve got a great idea here, and if you have any brains at all, you’ll listen! “Well,” she smiled, rocking on her heels, “Why don’t we create a little romance of our own?”
“Oh no,” Tina flinched. “Not another trip to Makeover Heaven. I won’t do it.”
A collective shudder ran through all of us. Tina was referring to an infamous night about six months earlier when we’d gone to Makeover Heaven (at Casie’s urging), followed by a night out dancing at the local country western dance bar, Haley and Joe’s.
The evening started out great — we all looked really good, the music was fun, the men were (mostly) cute, and we were enjoying more attention than we usually received in dance clubs. The evening fell apart when Tina, a real lightweight, threw up in the lap of a guy who’d joined our table, and then promptly passed out.
“No,” Casie said, walking into her bedroom, “not that again. No, right now. I’m thinking more along ethereal lines.” She left us to wonder among ourselves what she was up to as she retrieved something from her bedroom.