Getting ready is more fun.

Me: There is nothing like a 40-hour work week to make me want a drink on a Friday night.Tracy: Or seven.Kim: I'd prefer it in IV form. In the teachers' lounge. Could you imagine? Me: Real teachers do it in front of the students. Tracy: (Laughs.)Me: In my case, it was 7th grade math with Mrs. Doyle and her "special orange juice."Kim: You can't be serious.Me: Oh, but I am. She'd be off her ass all day, reeking of grandma cigarettes and gin. Kim: Is that my future?Tracy: Yes. Me: Thin, old white lady in a black cocktail dress, fake pearls, a grey bob and nicotine fingers. Kim and Tracy: (Laughs.)(Beat.)Kim: Well, after that mental image, all I can do is focus on the here and now.Me: Uh-huh.Kim: And my ghetto-rita.Me: Aren't they good?Kim: A Solo cup filled to the top with tequila with a splash of generic brand margarita mix. It's... liberating. Tracy: You gon' bust yo titties out. Me: (Laughs.)Kim: So I'm a Girl Gone Wild turned alcoholic middle school math teacher? What else do you two think of me?Me: I think you're my hero.Tracy: And everything I'd like to be.Me: (Looking at Tracy.) I can fly higher than an eagle.Kim: Complete the next line, and I will stab you both in your sleep. Make it look like an accident.Me and Tracy: (Laughs.)Tracy: Tit-tays.(All cackle in unison.)Kim: Those boots are too much. Me: In what way?Kim: They kick ass. I want a pair, but I also need to afford rent.Me: They're worth it. You can guarantee no one else there will have shoes like these. Tracy: That's a given. Kim: There's one thing I want to know. Do 95% of the girls in this city think "Oh, I want to be sexy tonight. I'm going to highlight my hair blonde and put on a spaghetti strap black shirt or a little black dress..."Tracy: Don't forget the jeans. The fake distressed jeans. Me: The ones that look like they were previously owned by the victim of a hate crime who was tied by her hands to a bumper and dragged across state lines. Tracy: And heels.Kim: Little black heels!Me: I need more to drink.Kim: And then, when they meet up with all of their friends who are wearing the exact same thing, what do they say to each other?Tracy: Not a word is spoken. They're too mesmerized by their own reflections.Me: (Laughs.) "Hello? Who's this?"Kim: "Who are you? Who are you?"Tracy: Little purses.Me: And they always travel in packs.Kim: I thought it was a sorority thing, but we're not in a college town anymore. These women... Lord.Me: I want to know more about the men who are into these girls.Tracy: It's a field of dreams for them!Me: "If you blonde her, he will come."Kim: On her face.Tracy: That's it. Men don't want women with identities. They want these faceless, nameless Ira Levin moments. Me and Kim: Ohhhh.Tracy: It's true! They don't want or need the ability to pick out one from the next. They're on a poaching poon safari.Me: (On the floor, laughing hard and barely breathing.)Kim: (Leaning against a wall, laughing hard and somehow able to form words.) P.P.S. Oh my Lord. It's Poachin' Poon...Tracy: SAFARI.Me: OK. I'm better now. Kim: Do we honestly want to throw ourselves into the throng?Tracy: I don't know. Now we're all dressed.Me: And sauced.Kim: Ain't that the truth.