The three of us loaded into the car on Saturday afternoon to take one last trip to the Coromandal's before my mate had to hand the keys back to the owner. However, this short stint was a bit different; it was just us girls and we were WOMEN EMPOWERED.
Our 'girls only' weekend began when we got in the car and decided that the song "And I had the time of my life" by Patrick Swayze should be our theme song and proceeded to screech that song at the top of our ever loving lungs for the 2 hour drive to the batch. The theme continued as we talked about men, dreams and the cheesey movies that we grew up on, adored and secretly hoped our lives would emulate. Patrick and Jennifer were defiantly getting married in the future. They tango'd way to well together.
We agreed. We made a pact in blood. We bonded as women and swore till then end of time that we would not always need the men around. Gosh darn it, we were on a roll. We can do anything!
Until it came time to hook up the barbecue.
Damn.
Foiled again. A good plan completely gone up shit's creek without a paddle.
You would think three smart women could figure out how to hook up a damn gas barbecue. You would be wrong. We tried mind you. We tried for an hour. We used socket wrench type things and cursed like real men. I think I even made up a few new swear words while not giving in to the plain fact that my father didn't teach me how to hook up a fucking barbecue. Oh he taught my brother all right. Sure, I think there was a bonding moment there when Ray was 12 and Dad taught him things like how to pick up girls, how to use electrical tape for everything and how to go three days without changing underwear, four if necessary. This is just stuff that guys know and girls don't and quite frankly I never would have thought I needed to know until this moment. I mean; men barbecue. Women make salad.
So there we are; three pathetic women, hungry and pissed that we are so sad. Finally I gave in and begged a neighbor to do it for us. Low and behold I now know that in order to hook up the gas barbecue you have to screw the screw thingy in COUNTER CLOCKWISE. Yea, because that should have been obvious.
Two days later I yelled at Dad from 250,000 miles away. "I want to know ALL the things that you taught Raymond, Dad! I want to know what you held back from me while you were so busy teaching me how to be a girl"
Dad's cowering response, lilted with a giggle "What's the password?"
