Girl's Weekend was fabulous. We wined and dined and the velvet rope in the nightclubs was lifted just for us. We shoe-shopped kid-free and care-free and came home loaded down with packages. Our dinners were delish and our desserts to die for and our waiters ever attentive. We slept two in a double bed and I stayed straight and true on my side, careful not to drool, snore or try to sneak a midnight cuddle on my unsuspecting sister-in-law. How embarrassing would that have been? Some of our taxi drivers were crabby and some were nice; they were all maniacs, but we always made it to our destination. Some trips were faster than others though, I mean, whoa! We tipped lavishly, as though we had money to burn and as we trod the City streets in our Chanel sunglasses from Chinatown, Starbucks in hand, I couldn't help but feel a little Carrie-ish. Oh, the memories, the midnight run to Times Square where we took pictures with all the tourists, they asked us to, we looked to divine to resist, the fancy hair, the spiked shoes, the feathers and silk on dresses, what a time we had. What a weekend. Laters.
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