Somewhere, towards the end of an unusually long, cold, patience-busting winter, there comes a summons. It can take the form of a text, e-mail or phone call and almost always contains the word beach. Hearts respond and flap like the wings of migratory birds, all caution to the wind. The chosen few force themselves to forget their many responsibilities and actually entertain the thought that their families could actually function without them for a week, and they go forth.
They travel alone or in pairs, by plane or automobile and arrive at random times. They exchange squeals and hugs of salutation again and again as each one arrives. They give each other long adoring looks. There is genuine happiness in being together. They pick up old conversations, for they instinctively know that no conversation is ever really over. They can carry on multiple conversations, talking at the same time on various subjects and they somehow, magically understand each other.
There is suddenly a new-found freedom to eat what you want, shop for glitzy shoes, stay up late, sleep in, dance like a teenager, share stories, books, recipes, opinions. Everyone becomes an authority on everything and it is okay. There are serious discussions and light-hearted talk, tears and belly laughter. Empathy and hope are lavishly distributed.
On a girls trip nothing ever gets done. Ain’t that grand?