We’re all seated at a table together with our significant others, who are all lifelong friends. We’re new friends by default, trying to shout over the music catching up since the last party. A song comes on and there’s a mutual look and understanding. The ladies all stand up almost in unison, one whose name I wasn’t able to catch grabs my hand and follows me on the dance floor. We dance, sing, laugh, do silly moves and every once in awhile glance over at our men who are just gathered around sipping their liquid confidence, reminiscing about their younger years.
I revel in this moment of girlness and ashamedly, Dane Cook runs through my head, “Fucks boys, I just wanna dance!” I think about my friends back home, college roommates, and seasonal friends throughout the years and memories of nights out together flood my mind. The music is good. The vibe is right. But it’s more than that. It’s I do not care what the men are doing, because I just want to be me and these women just want to be loudly themselves.
I recall times when my heterosexual life partner and feisty 5’2” female defender, Rachel, would bring solo girls into the group never leaving anyone out. Or on occasions would fight on their behalf if anything ever started to get out of hand with a less than worthy of their time male. There are stereotypes or rumors of women being competitive or wanting to be the only girl in a scene, but I learned super young that’s just not the way we do things. Probably without meaning to, Rachel taught me that as women we have to look out for each other.
At the wedding, in the fun and beauty of being a girl with other girls, I saw a slightly darker side of womanhood. A glamorous chick dressed to the nines was harassing me to drink drink drink, so one of the other girls I was with secretly dumped out my shot of tequila and switched it with water, while the other girl hammered on about what a pussy (which let’s not get started on how wrongly used that word is - a muscle infinitely stronger than its male counterpart) I was being. I thought about Rachel and what being a fellow woman really means.
When people say “boys will be boys,” it’s usually in reference to something the boy did that was unkind, gross, or even illegal. I hope it’s starting to mean something different as my fellow boy moms and I raise a different generation of young men.
But back to my point - “girls will be girls” shouldn’t mean we’re at each other’s backs or climbing some invisible ladder by standing on the women beneath us. It should mean that girls are like Rachel and Martha (the one who had my back at the wedding). It should mean that with just a nod, girls know it’s dance time with or without the boys. And they know when it’s not dance time, but time to sit and listen. It should mean we are there to lift each other up and want what’s best for one another even in seemingly simple or meaningless moments. It’s just a party. It’s only a wedding of a couple I just met that day. We’ll never see most of these people ever again but isn’t life just a big pile of moments after all?
I love being a girl and I love the unsaid unwritten bond we share. We don’t have to be best friends or even know much about each other, but we know we’re in this together, even if all “this” is, is just a dance to a song we all love.
Thank you Rebecca- I’m glad I’m a girl, too! And thank you for having my back at some
Point - past or future!