City of Light

This year will be Kate's sister Priscilla's 50th birthday. I am not far behind, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

I mention this because in all the back and forth about drinks and Oliver and the Skinnygirl Cocktail event we are all planning to attend on the eve of my not-quite-50th birthday (I have a little breathing room still...) she mentioned that Priscilla will be crossing over and we may want to resume our streak of Rock Star Vacations With the Girls.

Not to be confused with the two or three ( or even as many as five, when you are Joy and have a patient, unflappable husband) Girls' Weekends which usually take place at the beach or some East Coast city of our choosing in the off season. Those are the givens. The Rock Star Vacations With the Girls are another thing altogether.

Usually Arizona. A group of anywhere from 4 to 7 ladies, all of our fabulous clothes, a massive assortment of makeup and hair products, and the world's largest privately held collections of bathing suits and cowboy boots. We have more fun with each other and collect more adoring local fans than any group of gals should be allowed to enjoy. We are invited everywhere, treated like royalty, comped almost anything we want to eat or drink. We stay in a gorgeous casita in a first rate resort and spa in the exquisite desert sands on the outskirts of Scottsdale. We shop, we dine,we hike, we spa, we cocktail, we polka (when everyone else two-steps). And we laugh. Until it hurts.

We also pile into one bed in the morning to rehash stories we came home with the night before. As only girlfriends do.

So Joy and Jackie and I all chime in at Kate's suggestion that we jumpstart the tradition after our hiatus this past Fall. We are all game. Super.

While we are wining and Olivering on Friday, I ask Kate if her childhood friend from Wisconsin has agreed to re-join us, or her other sister. Or her nieces who are old enough to join us. Can she get the casita she gets for free because people give her stuff?

She said she is sure she can, and everyone seems in favor but she had another thought. What if we skipped Arizona and went to Paris instead?

I would happily, gleefully, wholeheartedly dust off my passport for a return trip to Paris. My city of dreams. A city that calls to me.

What fun that would be! Though what potential for inciting an international incident quite by accident just by being us! (i.e. Kate and her penchant for illegal Road Cokes, for instance.)

We'd likely fly out of the international airport near my house since it now advertises "non-stop to Europe," as if there are lots of available mid-flight pitstop opportunities on your way across the Atlantic.

And that is where the trouble would start. The drink cart would make it's way down the aisle and the wine would be poured. And within just a few minutes, there would be some form of hilarious mayhem happening and a voice from the loudspeaker would inevitably say "Ladies, if we have to turn this plane around, there is going to be big trouble when we get home!" Which would of course have us all busting a gut with barely suppressed laughter.

And then of course, we'd land in Paris.

And there would be no stopping us.