Thursday evening saw a few ex-Jupiter girls get together for some pizza, wine, laughter and a marathon chin wag. Kim chose Carlyle’s on Derry Street in Vredehoek, a longstanding bastion of pizza-liciousness. We found out much later it was actually her local as she lives about 200m down the road, close enough to score free tequilas from the owner.
I, on the other hand, had to contend with stretching my allotted two units over a period of four hours allowing safe passage through a road block en route home. Next time I’m choosing the venue and catching a cab. *green-eyed monster surfaces and retreats*.
In preparation for writing this post, I conducted a quick dipstick survey on whether men really care what women talk about. The Chosen One willingly offered to answer on behalf of all straight, beer-drinking, footballer-playing men who have successfully celebrated ten years of marital bliss. (Our tenth anniversary was on Friday) So, do men care what women talk about on a girls’ night out? Continue reading