The plan was to fly Margy into town, drive up to Liz's cabin and surprise Katie there when she arrived with Liz and Fran and then spend a fun, chicks-only weekend, roughing it on the edge of the lake.

First snag; Katie water boarded Liz, Fran and MJ until they spilled all the details.  Well, who cares?  If Katie didn't want to be surprised, no skin off my nose.  The rest of us carried on as though it was still a secret because that was more fun.

Second snag; Mom didn't feel too well so she bailed on us Friday morning.  That was sad, but after drinking a toast to Mom we felt free to have just as much fun as if she were there.

Third snag; Plan A had the first car arriving at the lake an hour or so early and awaiting the signal that the second car was a few miles out of town.  At that point, the second car would send us a text to head back to town and surprise Katie at a cute little wine bar.  The snag occurred because it was so stinking dark out that those of us in the first car said no way are we driving back through these dark woods.  We called the second car to let them know just to continue to the cabin.  The second car wouldn't take our calls.
 
Fourth snag; I transcribed the directions for finding the key to the place in some language I don't actually speak. We sat in the car eating oreos and laughing ourselves sick until the other car arrived, about an hour after us. 

There were no more snags once Liz found the key and we went into the cabin.

This place was a "cabin", like Bill Gates is "well off".

"Roughing it" meant the water from the tap tasted yucky so we brought bottled water, which we stored  in the gourmet kitchen, which had 360 degree views of the lake.  Or maybe it meant the difficulty of washing the two story wall of windows overlooking the water. 

We didn't take the pontoon out because it was a bit cold and windy.

We spent the weekend eating, drinking wine, watching movies, talking and laughing.

There were no pillow fights and no singing into hairbrushes.  Attempting either cliche would've resulted in the perpetrator being thrown off the cliff into the icy depths of the lake.

At one point we all took an online personality test.  You answer three dozen questions and it assigns you a number type. Each number type had a detailed explanation and we could all see where we would fit into that type. Two of us were number 9s.  That was the "loyalist".  Two of us were number 4s, the "artist/thinker".  One was a combo number 9 and six.  Seeing as I spend all my time drawing, painting and thinking, you might think I was a four. Nope!  I'm a number 1, the "reformer".  A "reformer"  is logical, opinionated and wants to convince others to see the same light. 

Well, of course!  Once you've done the math and know that 2+2 does indeed equal 4, not only do you tell others that it equals 4, you don't waste time listening to people who want to convince you that 2+2 could equal 5, if you really, really want it to, deep down in your heart. 

An emotionally healthy reformer can change the world.  The list of famous type 1's included Gandhi, Margaret Thatcher and Pope John Paul II.  The type one fictional characters were Mr. Spock and the Church Lady.  I have to admit it made sense, as I've been known to do the superior dance on occasion. 

There was also a section that explained what could happen to each personality type if they were emotionally unhealthy and what the downward spiral might look like.  All the personality types could potentially deteriorate to the point of suicide, but I'm proud to say that type 1's, such as myself, are far more likely to take everyone else out first.  This came as a surprise to no one.

After dinner, we watched movies on the flatscreen.  There was a bigger screen in the man-cave downstairs, where the poker table was, but we stayed upstairs, as that's where the cookies were. And the wine.

On Saturday we went out for dinner.  Five tiny blonds and me.  The diner was an old empire builder railroad car.  The empire builder was the one that ran out to Havre, MT, my old stomping grounds.  I ordered the walleye and it was excellent.  Katie ordered saurbraten.  Why? Why?  No, she didn't like it and nobody wanted to sit next to her later while we watched Ironman.

Sunday morning we sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee.

"Let's give Fran a make-over." Katie said to MJ.

"Hey, Fran!" I yelled "Get in here, it's time for a do-over!"

"A what?" Fran walked in, rubbing sleep out of her non-puffy eyes.

"Not a do-over, a make-over." said MJ, giving me a look.  "This isn't volleyball."

"Sit down, I'm gonna make up your face." said Katie.

"No, no.  I never do that!  I'll look like a clown." Fran laughed.

"No you won't, you'll look beautiful." Katie insisted.

"I'll look stupid." Fran was beginning to look panicked.

"No you won't!" Katie promised. " I want to see how gorgeous you can be.  You never wear make up and you're one of the five prettiest girls I know."

"Why don't I think so?" Fran looked skeptical.

"Because you'd be an asshole if you did." MJ pointed out.

Katie did her very simply; just some shadow and mascara. She looked gorgeous; like herself, but with emphasis. She hated it.

We left the cabin in the same pristine condition we found it, drove back to town and met the rest of the family at Mom and Dad's, for Frankie's pizza and birthday cake for Margy, who's birthday was this weekend, too.

 

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