A few of my girlfriends and I go on occasional weekend trips together (we are past due at this time, damn it!).  These girls are very dear to me and I love our little screwed up, dysfunctional crew very much.

We were brought together by the Texas PTA and its annual conference in Austin but the real bonding took place in the trenches of school carnivals and dances at the school our children attended at the time.  Several of us got tattoos together and an artist at the studio said he’d never seen another PTA group get inked together.  That’s right, we brought classy to the Texas PTA.

When my husband got a job promotion and my family moved to Alabama, the girls and I vowed to not only stay in touch but to get together once a year for a girl’s trip.

We met up in Vicksburg, Mississippi for our very first one.  The Texas girls drove together and riding by myself to meet them was so worth it.  Our girl’s weekend happened to coincide with the Vicksburg 100 Year Flood and we were astonishingly lucky that we had booked the only river casino hotel that remained open during the flood.  A 100 Year Flood might have ruined some other girl’s trips but we felt incredibly lucky to have witnessed it.  It was a great trip filled with sightseeing, shopping, heart to heart talks, many laughs and some very juvenile pranks on my part.

But even the best of friends have mild skirmishes.  One of our mild skirmishes occurred right before our last girl’s trip.  We were going back to Austin where it all began with the PTA but this time we had a first class high rise apartment to lodge in and no agenda to dictate our weekend.

All the girls live in the Dallas area so it was only logical that I fly to Texas for this trip.  I had triple checked with all of them before booking my plane ticket, verifying the dates and times of everything.  I was on the phone with one of them when I clicked “Purchase Tickets”.  So when a couple of them decided to get revenge on me for my juvenile pranks in Vicksburg, I did not take it very well.  At all.

The trip was a few weeks away but I first had to make it through April Fool’s Day unscathed.  I failed miserably.  Matter of fact, I had forgotten it was April Fool’s Day so completely that when two of them said they wouldn’t be able to make the trip, I was totally convinced they meant it and was, understandably, very pissed off.

A few hours of seething later, I found out that it was an April Fool’s Day joke.  My rage factor exponentially increased with that discovery and I stopped answering my phone and messages for 24 hours to cool off because that’s the kind of calm, rational person I am.  After the 24 hour cool off period, I came back with this completely well thought out, adult response (names have been changed to protect the very guilty and, believe it or not, I actually removed the vast majority of F Bombs from the original message just for this blog post):

“You punk ass bitches. Yeah, you read that right. Punk.Ass.Bitches. I just want to point out that you two (punk ass bitches) ruined our last morning in Vicksburg last year, pouting over baby powder and my wrong turn to Cracker Barrel. I don’t know if Beth was having peen withdrawals or what but that is how it went down – having breakfast with the two of you and the huge sticks up your asses.  So you at least owe me 24 hours to chill out after the total fuckery that went up my ass without one drop of KY Jelly last night. I mean, at least squirt a bitch a drop or two of some Jergens next time.

That being said, revenge will be ugly. It will be big. It will be funny as all hell, if you’re me.  It won’t be a fucking smiling penis magnet on the back of your car.  You won’t know when it’s coming. It won’t be in Austin. It may not even be in the next year. You’ll start to relax, start to take shits in the privacy of your own home without clinging to a butcher knife or automatic weapon and then BAM! That’s right. FUCKING BAM! I’ll be there.  So bring your mace and body armor and shit to Austin. You ain’t gonna need it there. I’m the ninja from your very worst nightmares, the ones you wake up crying from like the little punk ass bitches you are with wet panties and yellow stains on your Wal Mart sheets. Y’all best just start wearing Depends. That’s your safest mother fucking bet.

Also, I need measurements for our tee shirts. And y’all owe me a round of drinks in Austin. Fuckers. I love you.”

I hope every single one of you are blessed with the friendship I’ve been blessed with over the years.  Because really, what is life without the love of a few punk ass bitches?  Nothing.

Follow up:  The initial reaction to my message was righteous indignation that I’d needlessly attacked and dragged their Wal Mart sheets into the whole skirmish.  Also, to the best of my knowledge, they are all still taking shits in the privacy of their own homes armed with butcher knives and automatic weapons.  Revenge will find them one sweet day.  Yes, it will.