Girls Gone Wild

I'm leaving in a few minutes for a three-day convention of a women's group that's been part of my life since, well, since I've been alive. My grandmother belonged, and so did my mother, and I'll be rooming with my older sister.

I completely believe in the educational and philanthropic goals of this group, and the thought of three days to spend with my older sister while someone else does the cooking sounds heavenly. Most of us are of (or above) a certain age, though, and it's a pretty sedate group, so we are unlikely to spend much time braiding each others' hair and squealing over the Jonas Brothers.

Husband may not completely understand that the women who attend this convention are different from the wild-and-crazy accountant-types he meets at his seminars. When he left for work this morning he cautioned me about my behavior.

"Don't do anything that would embarrass your kids," he reminded me.

Well, dang. I guess we all won't be getting matching tattoos after all.