Sometimes it takes one to know one. I can have hilariously intimate conversations with men as well (Malcolm and I practically have our own language), but there's just something about girl talk that really is just for girls.
Meeting dimps on Friday to head out to the bar, she called me out on my going-out preparation:
"Oh, you have shit on your face. Is this a 'put-shit-on-face' kind of night?"
"Oh god, not at all. I just haven't been out of the house in two days and thought I'd try to look presentable. You don't have to put shit on your face if you don't want to."
"Okay, good."
But then you could argue that it's just because we've been friends for so long that we can just use language like that and get it. But then how would you explain the fact that I found myself laughing in stitches on the couch the very next day, surrounded by women I'd met only hours earlier?
The hilarity was constant through the night, but there was some time near the end where we dominated the living room and starting talking about dating, weddings, first meets and fashion. Following some giddy giggling about love stories, someone piped up,
"Ladies, I'm all for the girly talk, but I swear to god I just saw a cloud of estrogen explode in this room."
"Was it pink with sparkles?"
*insert explosion of laughter, couched in pink, sparkly dust*
And then, to close the night at the beginning of our goodbyes,
"Oh man, I had a great time with you gals. We should really get together sometime to share some more vagina dust."
"Omg, 'vagina dust' - so that's why it's pink."
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