The cure for male underwear overexposure

I live in a house filled with man and little man underwear. I often think that if I was one of those people who would hang a bright, colorful flag displaying the seasons that it would say, Vinson: House of penises with underwear embroidered welcoming all who enter.

With this realization, I try to make it out with female friends when possible. Adult conversation that does not involve discussions of superheroes, legos, cars, and anything else stereotypically male is welcomed and is a sanity saver.

Enter a weekend of XX fun. Up first was a jewelry making class that I got ½ price on Groupon. I’ve wanted to check outOrnamentea
for a while, and when they offered up a class to learn the 7 basic types of earrings I was all over a ladies day out.

Note that after 3 hours, with much help from the instructor, I had seven pairs of earrings. My apologies to the instructor, who should have gotten combat pay for all the times she had to reshow me a technique. I got to catch up with my friend as most days I only get a quick minute between classes.

Up next was finally seeing the Hunger Games. For a book that was so visually rich with what I thought scenes would look like if it ever came to film, it didn’t disappoint. So ready to reread the whole trilogy, again.

Lastly on the XX front was getting summer sorority reunion plans set. Once again a group of us are getting together for a weekend in July. This year we are in Nashville where two of our friends live and have promised us a honky-tonk good time. One of my friends is driving up from Myrtle Beach to fly out with me. Good odds that one or both of us may be booted from the plane before we make it to Nash-Vegas. The crazy thing about this friend is that she went to high school with Bill and has known him longer than me.

I’m fairly sure that the cure for overexposure to male underwear is cultivating female relationships.