Thelma and Louise and Louise

A million years ago, when we were in our 30s, my girlfriends and I started going on Girls’ Weekends. It didn’t matter where we went. The point was we were gone.

A weekend away from toddlers, housework, and husbands.

Three friends on an adventure.

Like Thelma and Louise and Louise.

But with a happier ending.

Back then, our trips usually took place in Palms Springs or Vegas.

It was a weekend tanning by the pool, where it was a balmy 115 degrees. 

At night, we’d spend hours doing our makeup and selecting the perfect mini-skirt and 4-inch heels.

Thelma, our resident hair stylist, did our hair.

Then out on the town we went.

Happy hour margaritas, a fancy dinner, and then dancing to 80s music at a hip club.

Sometimes, we’d strike up a conversation with a handsome man.

But, enough about our waiter.

Yep, we were young and reckless back then, staying out until the wee hours of the morning.

Then our 40s hit.

Since we were no longer interested in becoming human raisins, Vegas and Palm Springs were out.

Instead, we traveled to quaint beach towns, like La Jolla or Santa Barbara.

We spent lazy days soaking up rays on soft, white sands.

Under a huge umbrella, while wearing ginormous hats, we slathered SPF3,000 sunscreen on any exposed skin.

It’s called harmful ultraviolet rays, people.

At night, we still got dolled up, applying makeup before deciding on the perfect capris and sandals with a spunky, but supportive wedge.

Thelma, always the stylist, still did our hair.

But while looking at the menu before we left, one of us (me) would say, “You know this place delivers.”

Louise would sigh. “We just got dressed.”

So we’d take a selfie (or whatever it was called 15 years ago) to capture the illusion we were three wild women all dressed up and out on the town.

Then we’d change into sweats, practice a little line-dancing in the room, and wait for our BBQ chicken salads to be delivered.

It was wild.

But if you think that was bonkers, let me introduce you to our current Girls’ Weekend.

Now, in our 50s, we prefer a much different type of destination.

Any town that throws out the word “Sleepy,” is a big draw.

Also, we’d like to be as far away from the sun as possible.

Is Jupiter open?

On our last Girls’ Weekend, we decided on a Northern California town called Carmel.

It promised to be a comatose cloud-covered weekend!

The fun started before we even arrived.

We stopped at a CVS because Thelma forgot her Menoquil. I mocked her for buying such a middle-aged product on what was supposed to be a wild weekend. But then, l realized I had left my reading glasses at home, and Dammit, I can’t see a thing without my Costco 2.5 readers.

Meanwhile, Louise had meandered into the pharmacy to check her blood pressure.

In line, I shook my head at my friends. 

Look at us, with our hot flash pills and glasses and slightly elevated blood pressure.

I threw in a few minis of Fireball.

Fortunately, the weekend took a turn for the better because Louise had brought a whole bag of…

Succulents!

We spent Saturday afternoon making succulent planters.

Nothing says “Wild Weekend” like porous soil and drought-resistant plants.

A few hours later, it was time to get ready for our Saturday night shenanigans.

Hair was styled, make-up applied and we all picked out the perfect pajamas and supportive slippers. 

Plantar fasciitis is no joke!

Also, you gotta be comfy when you’re playing board games and watching Doc Martin.

Then we had shots of Fireball (which is basically a liquid hot flash, but more fun) and Thelma slurred, “We’re so blessed to have each other.”

Did she just say blessed?

We’re not in church, Thelma.

But she was right.

After that, we played a raucous game of Scrabble until the wee hours.*

“I wonder what our Girls’ Weekends will be like when we’re in our 60s?” Louise pondered.

I imagine pretty wild.

*10:45