Musings on a girls' weekend in Las Vegas...
If one loses her voice while chatting continuously with her girlfriend during the 6.5-hour drive to Las Vegas, many people in said city will assume that she lost her voice during a wild night of cheering for the glistening "performers" of Thunder Down Under.
Waiters on the strip refuse to split a party's bill, and may hate you a little bit if you and your friends take it upon yourselves to split it for them.
The drunk chicks at the next table will openly make fun of you for such responsible (cheap? tacky? hateful?) behavior.
Waiters on the strip may hate you a little bit when you don't order alcohol. Always order an appetizer to sweeten the deal.
The moment you declare that you aren't in the mood to shop for clothes is the moment you find the two dresses (on sale!) you didn't know you can't live without.
Observing the (swollen, lumbering, drunk, dirty) masses on The Strip is amusing the first day, appalling the second day, sad the third day and just plain depressing the fourth day.
The Universe has no choice but to balance a relaxing full-body massage complete with an invigorating exfoliating scrub and a refreshing mini-facial with a subsequent and lasting kinked neck and giant forehead zit. It's only fair.
If one leaves her babies for 4 days and returns with a voice like Darth Vader, she may be met with four eyes wide with fear. However, it is possible to distract the frightened children from the scary (lack of) voice by presenting two large and very sticky suckers shaped like dice.