Motoring

We zoom around a corner and up a crowded street. And we stop.

And we sit. And we sit some more.

Our driver who had seemed  to be oblivious to our incessant chattering holds up his hand as if to silence us as he gets radioed.  I think it is a nervy thing to do but don't blame him. He'd have a hard time hearing an air horn over the racket we are making in the back seat.

He turns and looks directly at us. For a moment I think he is going to reprimand us for disturbing his conversation with God-only-knows-who. But no.

"Ladies, the Presidential motorcade is coming through up ahead very shortly.  I'm afraid we are stuck right here until it passes and traffic is permitted to move. This may be a while. I hope you understand."

Oh, we understand. We understand perfectly. We understand that our precious few hours of Girls Weekend are ticking away while we sit with our legs politely crossed in a this effing stationery car. With no cocktails, for Chrissake.

I reach for my wallet without hesitation, and in fact we all reach for our wallets. They are flying open and bills are whooshing in all directions as we assemble a little pile of cash to cover the fare and the tip and maybe his first beer of the night. Kate hands the driver the pile and I hear her making some excuse as I open the door and reach for Priscilla's hand.

In one fluid motion we are out of the car and walking toward the W. 

I will admit that it is a thrill to see the motorcade go by.  It is nearly silent. Police, long black cars, fortified black SUVs, helicopter support, motorcycle escorts. Somewhere in all that fanfare are Barack and Michelle.
Flying by us. All of us on our way to an evening out, filled with anticipation.

The walk takes its usual form. We walk. We talk (what else?). We joke. At one point Priscilla begins to tell a story that gets us all laughing. Laughing so hard in fact that Priscilla can't continue to speak and Kate finishes the story, which gets us laughing harder still. And before the story is even finished we have had to stop walking in favor of bending over double with hysterics.  We are wiping tears of laughter from our faces and crossing our legs so as not to pee, we are laughing so hard. A spectacle, no doubt. You'd think by now we'd remember to stash extra panties in out purses for moments like this.

Once we've sufficiently recovered and the abdominal muscle cramping has subsided, we make our way to the W where we are quickly ushered to the rooftop bar.  From there we can see the Presidential helicopter taking off from the White House repeatedly, circling the Washington Monument and returning. I wonder if it is typical Saturday night amusement for the First Children while the Secret Service babysits and the First Parents enjoy an evening out as a couple.

We order champagne just for fun. Seems like everyone in Washington is out for a fun night. None more so than us. Cheers!