The Marthas are breaking with tradition this weekend.
We've come to our senses and realized that an annual Womanly Weekend is not sufficient to nourish our souls. One weekend per year of busting our bad selves out to terrorize the town and then retiring to a hotel room for noshing and quaffing and soul baring merely starts to chip away at the crust of responsibility that the world has slathered upon us.
And this weekend, world, I am giving you fair warning - the Marthas are coming to town.
On the agenda:
Friday night - Hedwig and the Angry Inch at Sage Theatre
The Resident Offspring has graciously agreed to share play night with a gaggle of Marthas. I think she secretly enjoys being an honourary Martha; she is after all, the first minor to break into the sacred inner sanctum.
Should we dress up, do you think? Suggestions for outfits to wear to a production of Hedwig?
Saturday afternoon - playing with clay
I think we are just painting pre-made bits, not actually getting our hands dirty, but it's still immensely satisfying.
This is a plate that I painted a few years ago on a Martha weekend and it still hangs on my kitchen wall, where it continues to please me. We've been spending the last few Womanly Weekends schlepping about town and shopping and personally I am looking forward to the change.
Saturday night - dinner and karaoke
This is not written in stone, but much interest has been expressed, to the point where I sussed out karaoke bars in the vicinity of our hotel. I rather expect that my first choices in karaoke songs, Fairytale of New York and Two-Headed Boy, will not be available, but I am willing to dig deep and belt out some standards, like Mac the Knife or Beyond the Sea. Or anything by ABBA, of course. I would rather scoop my eyeballs out with a rusty melon baller than warble along to the Eagles or anything from Grease, though.
later Saturday night through to Sunday morning - pyjamas, food, wine, board games, girl stuff
Sunday afternoon - undetermined
No doubt this will involved some shopping, we are talking about the Marthas after all, and I am a bit of a black sheep with my non-shopping gene. It will be well worth it, provided Sandra starts cackling like only she knows how (and you know she will).
Sunday supper time - teary goodbyes
We'll head home, exhausted but with rejuvenated souls. The Marthas will have saved the universe once again.