We had an article in the magazine about Girlfriend Getaways. We made fun of it loudly and then found ourselves furtively stealing glances.
Girlfriend Getaway...a vacation just for girls. No boys. No couples allowed. Sun and drinks and dinner and massages and flirting with bartenders...
The more we said it, the better it sounded. So we picked up, and we went. Sunsets, cliff dives, oxtail stew.
Netting on the bed, the villa overlooking water that glittered a hundred shades of blue.
The hot sun beating down on us, in January no less. Pineapple drinks. Rum, rum, rum.
Bikinis and wet sundresses. Extra fries, rice and peas. The white-sand beach, the waves crashing on the bluffs. Flowers on the bed.
The shower? Outside.
Bare feet. Fashion photographers who asked us to party, waitstaff who asked us to dance. We said no and kept on in our pack, headed to the next piece of fruit, wave, snack and magazine. We laughed until we cried. We have a new nickname for everyone we know.
Ten new inside jokes, three new playlists, and hundreds of future plans now.
We did it. We went to Jamaica. It was phenomenal. Pics are a-coming, and I'm going to ice down my sunburn so it will turn into a tan.