Momma’s Night Out!

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Good moms drink and swear.

We all talk about it but how many of us actually A) Do it and B) Enjoy it?  Now that a couple of my friends that I have grown up with are starting families, the topic of conversation is having a Momma’s Night Out.  Get dressed up, sneak a shower in, wash your hair perhaps, tuck all your fat into Spanx that might possibly cut off your circulation.  But who cares, you look skinnier, all for a dinner out in a pair of uncomfortable heels.

You start off the evening listening to music that was cool when you were cool and in my case, that’s some Beyonce Naughty Girl, a little bit of Usher,  Adam Levine Maroon 5 before the tattoos and of course, throw in a little bit of Alicia Keys with backwards corn rows and some Britney pre-Kfed into the mix.  You jam, you prep, you prime, you yell at your kids for coming into the bathroom while the flat iron is on but alas, you know it’s going to be a good night.

When you try to leave your home your children begin making you feel like crap, “Mommy! I want to go to dinner with your friends! Why are you leaving us?  Don’t you like being with us?”  Awesome, right?  Now your kids hate you and will need to see a therapist once they are older because you are abandoning them.  You walk out the door, arrive at the restaurant and forget all about the mommy guilt and YOU ARRIVE, you strut, you sit, you take off your uncomfortable shoes, ask the the waiter to take a few group pictures where you change your angle after each click to avoid a double chin.  Then you give the waiter the next phone to do it all over again because texting each other the pictures doesn’t make any sense.

A bottle of obnoxiously priced wine (or tequila, or vodka, or rum) is ordered and the evening begins.  After bottle number 1, you talk about how much you miss your children and how guilty you feel.  After bottle number 2, you are making fun of how big your kid’s head is and after bottle number 3, you are certain that you can move like Beyonce and are praying that your spouse does not take advantage of your drunken slumber and impregnate you with another baby because you obviously aren’t wearing spanx and have abs of steel, how could your spouse resist the temptation of removing your girdle?

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