Saturday I went out to dinner with the GF and her parents (who are in town visiting for a few weeks). I suggested a little restaurant that opened in my neighborhood recently that has the greatest desserts ever made by man, beast, deity, or petite-sized Deborah. They don’t take reservations, and we were going to get there relatively early – before the clubbers were out. But upon our arrival I knew instantly that we were in trouble due to a head chef’s worst nightmare: the all-girl birthday party. It was pretty sizeable – nine women all of whom were in their mid to late 20’s, dressed in varying levels of trendiness. From stereotypically trashy to “Clinton and Stacey* would beat you with a corset for wearing that” horrid.
Before I get too much into the details of what happened, let me explain a little about why every girl’s birthday party (as an adult at least) should have at least one guy in attendance. Whenever there is a gathering of more than two women, it becomes a “bonding experience”. They talk to each other for no other reason than to talk, a trait which continues to mystify men to this very day. I mean, if you’re not going to come to a decision, or make a conclusion what’s the point of talking at all? When you get a big group of women together and let them talk-for-no-reason, then each of them feels an obligation to talk with every other woman at the event so that everyon feels equally bonded-with. And they refuse (or - to be fair - forget) to do anything or go anywhere else until that is accomplished.
And that was exactly what happened with the birthday group in question. It was just talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk.
For over two hours…While the bar and lounge area filled to bursting with people waiting for tables.
Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk SQUEAL giggle talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk.
Ladies, this is why having a guy along helps the world. Because guys are so focused on making progress towards a goal, we don’t stand much for endless chatter. We usually have things to get to after dinner, so we shepherd the group from dinner to cocktails to dancing. If there’s more than one of us it’s easier (plus, it gives us someone to talk logistics with about how we’re going to get 11 people into 2 cabs to make it to the concert before the main act starts). Plus, guys usually will notice when all 30 people standing in the lounge are glaring at us with eyes that say “You’ve had the bill for 45 minutes, pay it and get out or we will gladly pay the valet to slash your tires.” It doesn’t matter if he’s the husband you’ve never met or your gay buddy at work who always compliments your shoes – he’ll notice these things, so bring him along.
But sadly, this group was sitting in the restaurant all night, occupying about 10-15% of all seats in the restaurant. They probably had a great time. But by the time the head chef was coming out to apologize to those of us still waiting in the lounge, I was pretty sure that all their desserts had been horribly violated. Or, at least I enjoyed thinking so to myself.
*From TLC’s version of What not to Wear
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