My girlfriends and I had our “Hot Mamas” movie night last
night. One of my friends has a home
theater in her basement and we get together at her house one Thursday a month to socialize while we watch a good flick. We eat, chat and drink a little wine. Last night we added another activity to the mix: we TP’d a friend’s
house. Most of us live in the same
neighborhood so we grabbed a stash of toilet paper, crept stealthily out the
back door and down the road. We felt
like covert agents as we covered her trees, shrubs and mailbox with toilet
paper. We also did a little driveway
graffiti with the help of some readily available sidewalk chalk.
I am still astonished that I actually participated in this
activity. I kept having déjà vu as we
were walking surreptitiously in the dark. If I were wearing size four jeans and holding a Keystone Light and a lit
cigarette, I would have been in High School. We laughed hysterically the entire time. It ended in very appropriate fashion: my friend’s (the victim)
dog barked and we all took off running, screaming like schoolgirls.
Right now I am suffering from
post-moronic-activity-disorder, commonly known as PMAD. Did I really help TP someone’s house? Did I do this at the ripe old age of 31 with
the help of several other mothers of young children? What were we thinking? I
was 100% convinced last night that she deserved it. She did miss movie night after all and she wasn’t on her
deathbed (the only legitimate excuse). How did she feel when she walked out her door this morning to a scene
right out of the ninth grade? Is she
upset? Is she flabbergasted? And, most importantly, does she still love
me? Alyson, please forgive us. We are morons.