I loved sleepovers as a kid. Some of my favorite memories were the nights I spent at my best friend Linda’s house, spreading our pillows and sleeping bags all over her basement floor and staying up way into the morning, talking about boys and clothes and the mean girls at school.
When I got older, I discovered girls trips. My first real one was spring break my senior year of high school. I saved up my money from my job at Caldor and we went to Ft. Lauderdale, and I almost lost my virginity to someone named Mike. Well, not exactly, but it was my first big make-out session, where clothes were shed and hands were groping.
One of my all-time favorite girls trips was the summer of 2003, St. Tropez. Some friends and I rented a villa there, in town, and things that tend to happen on girls trips, happened. We drank too much at night, woke up hung over the next morning, then gossiped by the pool about the previous night’s activities until it was time to go out again. It was perfect. There was booze and boys -- and Francois! Francois was the deckhand on the catamaran we rented one of the days. He was gorgeous, and he barely spoke English. He looked like Tom Cruise. He really looked like Tom Cruise. It was uncanny, in fact, how much he looked like Tom Cruise.
Francois and I flirted on the boat and when the day turned to night we danced until all hours at Le Cav de Roy, the chicest club in southern France. (Tables were involved). Naturally he was in no condition to drive home, so I brought him back to our villa. One thing led to another and we fell in love. At least until the sun came up and I realized I had to sneak him out. We spent the next day driving along the French coastline, roaming thru quaint coastal towns, eating foie gras, pommes frites, brie, and baguettes. When I returned, of course, I was the pool gossip. Me and my Tom Cruise-alike French pirate. My girlfriends and I laughed for days -- so fun -- about my epic romance with Francois and our deep meaningful conversations.