A dozen women presided over Friday night's "Margarita Resurrection" party. And of course we packed ourselves in my kitchen — the henhouse — and didn't settle in the living room till there were only 6 or so of us left.
In the history of margarita parties, this one was full of laughs but not as wild as some have been. The wildest ones have had themes: "Hollywood" or "Summer Vacation" that brought out the costumes, the wigs, the karaoke, and the bad grrrlz in us.
Also, this time around, everyone who came seemed to be a fairly harmonious place in their lives. Maybe harmonious is too strong a word — at least stable. The most uninhibited parties resulted from pent-up frustrations and anger — marriages falling apart, jobs eating us alive — so maybe it's just as well to have a gathering that's more hen than drunken parrot.
The first women-only gathering began with Maria's divorce party, I think. 1999-ish. Great cackling fun. She had another party not long after that where husbands were included. Boring. Inhibited. And so the grrlz-only tradition was born. There have been quiet versions where not many woman show up — although the best of these was when we sat in Maria's hot tub in sub-zero weather, drinking cosmos while our hair turned to icicles. (I think that one also had the "how fast can you take off your bra without taking off your shirt" contest.) And then the unhinged versions... the most fun, but with darker subtext.
But we haven't gotten together in nearly two years — I think that January '05 hot tub gathering was the last, so the "Resurrection" was overdue.