Tonight/Last night( it’s 2 AM now, so is it last night?), I met up with some of my old high school gal pals (and a guy pal) and ran the conversational gamut from catching-up to the hold-ups like politics, sex and men, religion, and feminism.

It was weird how, though once we were all over the spectrum in these areas, we’re all now in the same place: figuring out life, going through some awkward transitions like travelling or working terrible jobs, and wishing for the days of our founding fathers when federalism was only a small concept, rather than a huge Obamanated, Pelosified machine.

Oh, and did I mention? The girls are also universal on this one: we miss the days when men were manly–and not in the grunting caveman way. We miss the days when men did daring things because they believed in what they were doing. We really miss the days when men stood up for important things instead of turning mundane, idiotic arguments into “pissing contests.” And yes, we miss feeling protected by men rather than at their mercy. But instead of just whining, we wound up thinking of our feminist, postmodern forebears of the sixties and seventies and thinking, “My God, what have we wrought?” Then we all agreed that Henry Cavill (he speaks how many languages and looks like THAT [see below]?) might possibly be the best gift God gave women, and that we’d all love to have his babies…  Could he be our generation’s sexual-synergy savior?

Henry Cavill, n. - (b. 1983) Legendary British actor, model, eye candy, and apparent fantasy for women of this generation (Move over, RPattz?)

I had a little internal chuckle before I wiped my eyes and smiled at my equally baffled, darling and well-loved, and even barely-known, generational cohorts seated around our little table in a mismash of Gucci and Target, beers and cocktails, boots and sneakers.

Then we did what we gathered to do: wished our bravest, tallest blonde well on her year-long sojourn in Shanghai, where everyone is short and dark.

In short, I’m just ruminating on how much I love how spunky, honest, and well-intentioned my friends are. And I feel privileged to follow their adventures, gather their opinions, take their advice, and be heard in return.  It was quite a meeting of the minds before we all scattered again. Love you all!

Also, I still may be slightly tipsy from my one little drink. That’s what happens to girls who aren’t used to imbibing!  Long live girls gone mild.

And, yes, long live King Henry.  I’d love to be a lady-in-waiting at that court, if it existed. I wonder how we would address our sovereign?  “His Yumminess”?   “His Delectableness”?  These musings should wait for another day and a more sober time.

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