Our second day in Denver began with manicures and pedicures in the morning.  I've never had either.  Still haven't had a pedi, in fact and never will.  My feet are the single most ticklish part of my body.  No one touches my feet unless they are willing to be kicked and kicked hard by my linebacker legs.

Many years ago, my parish priest begged all of us to come to the Easter week services.  These are the holiest days of the year in the Catholic church, but they aren't holy days of obligation, so we don't have to go to mass.  Fr. O. just thought it would be really nice if we did.  Late on the afternoon of Holy Thursday, I remembered Fr.s heart felt plea for attendance and decided to go.  I shoved on my duck boots and ran off to church.  

Holy Thursday mass includes a foot washing ritual.  Again, didn't have to do it, but what the heck....except that I had been out in my garden doing yard work right before I left the house.  I'd been out in the spring muck and mud barefoot.  I had shoved my bare, muddy feet into my rubber boots and ran out so as to be on time for mass.  My feet don't look good under the best of circumstances, but inside my boots on that Holy Thursday they were covered in dried mud and yard debris. I decided I had to be less self conscious, take on some humility and let the congregation see my feet.  It took a lot of prayer through the entire service to get the guts to get in line, preparing to bare my filthy, disgusting feet, but I did.

And that's when I had my epiphany; in order to wash my feet, someone would have to touch my feet.

I bolted.

I could stand the humiliation of showing all and sundry my mud caked, paddle feet.  No way could I live down the embarrassment of having kicked some poor parishioner through the stained glass window.

Just remember if you ever see someone running out of a church like a bat out of hell; maybe God is the One who  told them to go while the getting was good. 

So, while Mom, Katie, Margy and Mary Jeanne were getting pedicures, I got a manicure.  It was nice, but I can't imagine doing it as a regular thing.  I did like the wax dip and my hands and nails looked fabulous when it was over but in my real life, that would last about a minute after I got home.  Not all lifestyle choices can support pretty nails.

Friday night we didn't want to cook, so we went downtown and had dinner at a lovely Mexican restaurant.  We had a terrific waitress who was very helpful in suggesting how much food we needed.  The table next to us was populated by extremely loud sorority sisters, who's language was as decorous as their volume but we had a great time anyway. 

Later on, we did the Denver Museum of Art, and the Sundancer Gala for Margy's church.  That was back downtown again.  I remember a bowling alley in there, somehow and a taxi that never came.  There was karaoke, too, I'm sure of it.

Sunday morning was snowy and bleak and MJ didn't feel well.  Jeff and the boys came back down the mountain and made spaghetti and Billy came for dinner too.  It was great to see him.  We weren't going to let him come over, but since all of Margy's men were back, Girl's Weekend was officially over.

MJ felt better by the time we got to the airport on Monday.  All in all, a great Girl's Getaway.

We'll definitely have to do it again.