The Girls Night is an American classic. Girls never more enjoy the ritual of getting ready to go out more than when they are with their best friends and getting their Girl on together.
At just about 5 pm...okay maybe I shaved a few minutes from the business day, I dashed to my car, made sure my overnight bag had not been smashed-and-grabbed from my car in the parking garage, conveniently situated in the crime capitol of the nation, and zoomed over the bridge to the city.
A city I love. The city that holds so very many colorful memories. A city that is always changing yet that I know like the back of my hand and always feels like home. I can feel the tightness across my shoulders loosen just a hair as I take the hairpin exit off of the bridge, take the secret loop into Olde City and make my way past landmarks and historical sites toward the hotel.
I circle the block once looking for decent parking and pull into a lot for the night. I feel as at peace walking through the city back to the hotel as Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail.
The doorman opens the door and directs me to the bellman who takes my coat and bag, encouraging me to enjoy the Wine Hour as he hands me my ticket and tells me he'll keep an eye out for my friends.
I am served a much needed Chardonnay from an impeccably dressed hipster young man and just-stepped-out-of-Vogue young woman and look around at the eclectic decor in search of a seat.
There is one. It is next to a nice looking, long-legged young man who is reading the paper. It looks like there may be someone with him. The chair is empty but there is an empty coffee cup on the table between the two mismatched but perfectly coordinated occasional chairs.
He looks up. I smile. I almost say something cheesy like "Is this seat taken?" but rewrite the sentence in my head even as I begin to speak. "Is anyone sitting with you?"
He smiles. "No, please sit down," and smiles before returning to what appears to be the sports page. He is wearing a Syracuse hat.
He folds the paper. "Do you know anything about Philadelphia?"
Do I?
"Yes," I say. "Of course. I am actually from Philadelphia."
He looks confused. Like maybe I am some desperate kook who comes to local hotels every night for their complimentary happy hour and free food.
"I am meeting some out of town guests and staying in town for the night. I actually live in the suburbs,"I say, making sure I gesture to the Western Suburbs, not the Jersey Suburbs, God forbid.
"Oh. What are the chances, you think, of me getting a ticket to tonight's NFL game?"
"Really good," I say. "We are losing, just about out of the playoffs, have a QB that everyone loathes and a coach whose head people want on a plate with a side of fries. Show up at the stadium. You'll get a ticket. Probably at face value."
"You ARE from here, aren't you?"
You can take the girl out of Philly...
At that precise moment, I hear Joy's voice. I look in the direction from which it came, and miraculously, the bellman is in fact directing her toward me with a smile. Such intuition.
She gets to where I am. The guy offers her the ottoman in front of him as she sits for a moment. I introduce them. Joy turns to me.
"Did you bring the wine?" she asks.
"Yes, but like an ass I forgot the opener."
"Oh I probably have one in my purse, we'll be fine. If I don't Kate does."
And thus, a Girls Night Out begins.
The guy is loking at us like we are
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