Girls' Night Out

“There were 17 cats living in Larry's basement.”

My drink threatened to escape through my nose as I choked back a laugh.

“Seventeen?” I snorted. “The questions of 'Why?' and 'How did you know?' come to mind.”

Beth shrugged as she played with her swizzle stick. “He, of course, told me. Which was part of the reason we only had the one date.”

“Okay, I will admit, that one was pretty good,” I said as I reached for another chip. “But how about that guy I met at work who told me he was an artist?”

Beth threw back her head and let out a roar of laughter. “Oh god, I forgot about that one!” she howled. “What was it he wanted you to model for? A nude sculpture?”

“No,” I sighed, “it was a mold of my chest. For an 'installation for a wealthy patron.' So did not even make it to dinner on that date!”

“Good that you got out of that one quick,” Beth giggled.

“Yeah, but maybe I should have found out if the 'wealthy patron' was single first,” I laughed.

Our waiter swooped in with a new basket of tortilla chips and then whirled away with a promise of refills on our drinks. Beth watched him dance between the crowded tables, her eyes fixed on his behind.

“He went to school with my daughter,” I smirked. “He's actually quite fabulous, if you know what I mean.”

Beth rolled her eyes at me. “There is no way he can be that young,” she countered. “I peg him at being at least 25.”

“And I will remind you again that Katie's well past the teenage years,” I said. “Let's face it; we're old.”

“No, we're not!” Beth announced. When I didn't say anything, she changed tack. “Besides, how do you know he's gay?”

“Fifth grade, he dressed as his grandmother for Halloween,” I said. “In eighth grade, he announced in the yearbook that his goal in life was to be a 'drama queen.' And you should have seen the shoes he wore to prom with his date, the quarterback.”

“Oh, good lord,” Beth shook her head. “Back in our day, he would have been beaten up for that.”

“So, our kids are a bit more forgiving than our generation was,” I said, “but that doesn't make it okay for you to ogle his butt.”

“If I had known he was THAT young...” Beth trailed off into her glass. “How did we get to be old enough to have kids who are old enough to serve us margaritas?”

“Time has this nasty way of sneaking up on you,” I shrugged as my new drink appeared on the table.

“Oh honey, tell me about it,” our waiter sassed as he left us in a puddle of middle-aged giggles.

Word count: 484