COLUMN: Enter Nik’s Mind — Girls Day Out

Every once in a while me and the ladies carve a chunk of time out of our busy schedules for some much needed girl time. So when my best friend planned our very first, spring kick-off, girl’s day gathering of the year, I was eagerly anticipating a mental health break and lots of merry making. What I got, however, was physical exhaustion, spikes of terror and a possible felony rap.

To spare possible implication in a crime based on desperation, I shall rename my three amiga’s Moe, Larry and Curly. Moe and I were supposed to meet Curly and our neighbor Larry at a popular out-of-state hiking spot. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t exactly out of state but I can’t tell you our exact location for fear that we might be wanted by the Fed’s. Any-who, Moe and I arrived together expecting to find chairs set up, a campfire blazing and oversize coolers stuffed with food and beverages but instead we found Larry and Curly decked out in sports attire and hiking shoes.

Wait. WHAT? Hiking shoes? Apparently we missed the memo that Curly (the one with the bum knee that’s been operated on two times without success) planned an all-girls hiking excursion. YIKES! After much laughter at the presumed joke, followed by loud protests and threats of murder, I strapped on my own knee brace, taped up my ankle, wrangled my maniacal locks into a ponytail and unwillingly followed Curly into the wild. She led us to a vertical mini-mountain with a steep, craggy face comparable to Everest. Well, it looked like Everest to four slightly out of shape women in our um, thirties … eh hmm. We all gazed up and contemplated our fate until Curly spurred us into action.

I was first to give it a shot. I started upright but was soon on all fours clawing my way to the top. Lost my footing a few times and my balance a few more but there was just no going back without tumbling to my death. What the heck had I gotten myself into? Then, I turned to find Larry scurrying up a path nearby. She looked very much like a rabbit being chased by a grizzly. We were both determined to get to the top before we literally died trying. I was doing a darned good job at it too until Moe shouted from somewhere below me, “Don’t fall backwards, Nik.” HUH? Fall backwards? Who said anything about falling backwa … slip … stumble … gasp!

Suddenly, I wasn’t me anymore. An inner mountain lion emerged and I raced up that peak like my shorts were on fire. Never underestimate your own animal instincts in woodland emergencies, folks. My sudden flee for safety must have been contagious because Larry was so close on my heels that if I had stopped short, she would have been in my capri’s with me.

Before I knew it, Larry and I were standing with wobbly knees, gasping for breath and contemplating throwing rocks at Moe and Curly who were still at the bottom of the mountain doubled over in deranged laughter. JERKS!

After a while we all worked our way up, around and finally back down to the cars. We slugged back water, congratulated each other and preened with pride that we made it without death or dismemberment. It was so exciting, so exhilarating, so thrilling until the fear of tumbling to our deaths had passed and nature hit us with a vengeance. Uh oh, we needed a “ladies” room, PRONTO! We followed path after path until we eventually found one. Can someone please explain why bathrooms nestled among trees are always painted to blend so perfectly with their surroundings? Seriously, who’s the genius that thought that one up?

Victory was nigh — or so we thought. Unfortunately, the park wasn’t officially open so the lavatory was locked up tight. Well, the door was locked up tight but the window, not so much. After ample noise, finger pointing and the hoisting and shoving of Moe, the smallest of us, through the window, we entered the restroom. We found a sight so terrible, so heinous, I’m reluctant to describe it for fear I might traumatize my faithful readers. Just imagine a commode after eight months of winter, filled with an odoriferous liquid, brimming with primordial ooze that pulsed and spasmed like Frankenstein’s brain. SHIVER! We ran away screaming, splashing ourselves with hand sanitizer and looking over our shoulders for ambushing law enforcement. A proper restroom was never found but thankfully women can hold more water than a caravan of camels.

Girl’s day out ended with a celebratory bottle of champagne, a feast to make the God’s jealous and enough laughter to give us a decent ab-workout. As usual, we also walked away with yet another story to add to our ever growing, “never, ever tell this to our grandchildren” pile.

Special thanks to Moe, Larry and especially Curly for making this crazy life of mine a really, really good one.


Nik Davies

Nik Davies

Nik Davies spends most of her available time making up stories and writing them down. She also hates Cheetos and dogs named Diablo. She’s the author of the hit YA Fantasy thriller “Fif15teen” and lives alone in Pittsfield unless you count her husband, children, and the ghosts of Fred and Bob their dearly departed tree frogs. Find her on Facebook and Twitter.