Chocolate and Men

For my second Week of Me, the weekend event I had planned was epic. At the end of The Most Fabulous Brunch of My Life, Date Me, D.C.!, Thirsty Ivy, Suzie and I all decided that we needed a serious girls night out.

"I want chocolate and strong drinks," I decided.

"I want men to look at my boobs and tell me I'm pretty!" Suzie declared.

"Ooh, yes, THAT!" Thirsty agreed.

And so it was decided. Saturday night, Co Co. Sala, little dresses, tall heels, matching bra and panties, then out on the town. Operation Chocolate and Men was a go.

Saturday rolled around quickly (this was the weekend before last), but not before each of us could get thoroughly excited for the evening. Some new shoes were bought. Polls were circulated about how short the dresses should be and whether coats should be included.

When I met Date Me, D.C.! to share a cab from Crystal City, literally all I could see was legs as she walked up. She looked hot -- we both looked hot -- and we headed downtown to meet the girls at Co Co. Sala.

As is bound to happen when alcoholic drinks are laced with chocolate at a table full of women, we ran our tab up quickly. Chocolate martinis, tuna tartar, pink champagne, rich cheese fritters and bacon mac n' cheese all graced our table. We caught up on the events in each of our lives over the past week, toasted to Suzie's impending move, and eventually shifted the topic to men. By the time we finished dessert and paid the check, we were definitely ready for part two of the evening's festivities.

Say what you will, but like a moth to a flame, we were drawn to Barrack's Row. It's a chill part of town, for starters, and usually packed with men, as a benefit. We started at Lola's. As we checked in on Foursquare, Date Me, D.C.! and I were looking down at our phones as we walked in, noticing that we'd get a free mini-pour if we showed the check-in to our bartender. In those ninety seconds, Suzie made a new friend. We heard a man proclaim, "I'm buying these ladies all a drink!" Date Me, D.C.! and I looked up, smiled, and put away those silly mini-pour offers.

We chatted with the harmless married man who had purchased our round -- he was just being friendly and truly wasn't hitting on any of us -- finished our beers, and then decided to make our way down the street to check out a couple of other places. Lola's had been fairly empty, as were Molly Malone's and The Ugly Mug. We chatted with a couple of men here and there, watched part of the UFC fight at The Ugly Mug, ran into our friend Patrick, and decided to kidnap him and run off to H Street, NE.

After cabbing over to H Street, the night was almost a bust when we started at Little Miss Whiskey's. The scene was just a little dead. We decided to trek back up the street to The Queen Vic as one last attempt for the evening, vowing to head home after a drink if it wasn't good.

We marched upstairs and took over the rooftop deck, settling in with a few beers. Soon enough, a couple of men with high-and-tight haircuts joined us and quickly tried to get in our good graces. Because I am a woman of a certain age in a city of fewer and fewer available and desirable men, my eyes automatically scan a man's left hand to look for a wedding ring. So naturally, I noticed that High-and-Tight #1 was sporting a gold band, just as he was slipping his arm around Suzie's shoulder.

"Ahem, party foul," I said under my breath to Date Me, D.C.! and wiggled my ring finger at her. She spread the news to Thirsty Ivy.

About thirty minutes later and after enduring an insufferable and hostile conversation with High-and-Tight #2, wherein he tried to lecture us on the morals of keeping a child abuse scandal under wraps, #1 walked back outside from a bathroom trip, I assumed. For whatever reason, I noticed that he was no longer wearing his wedding ring.

I gasped and spread the news to the girls. I thought my job was done, setting off the red alert for a creeper in our vicinity, so I picked up my beer glass and started to take a drink when I heard Thirsty Ivy call out, "Hey, where'd your ring go?"

Beer went everywhere. Out my nose, ricocheting off the glass and the beer still in my mug to spray all over my face. Date Me, D.C.! has also been lulled into a false sense of security and was choking next to me. We both averted our eyes, failing miserably at controlling our laughter, afraid to look up and see what was happening between Thirsty and #1.

When we finally did look up (though really only about ten seconds passed, it felt much longer), we saw #2 walk past #1, heading back inside. He not-so-quietly said, "Abort!" as he passed by #1. But #1 just stood there, staring at his phone in his hand, before glancing toward the door and saying, "ok ... well, I'm gonna ... go." As he slinked off toward the door, Date Me, D.C.! shouted after him, "say 'hello' to your wife!"

Seriously, I am still snorting with laughter as I type this. It's one of the funniest things I've been involved in in a long time. My girl Thirsty has chops.

The rest of the night was pretty enjoyable. A group of men found their way out to the rooftop and took to entertaining us. There were about eight of them and four of us. We drank and laughed and handed out our numbers when asked at the end of the night.

And then, per our established rule for the evening -- four girls go into a bar, and four girls come out of a bar -- we all hopped in cabs and headed home. I know we each went home with smiles on our faces, knowing this was simply one of those nights we would remember for a long, long time.