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We decided we were sick of ourselves and would make a list. After all, we had been behaving liked unleashed adolescents.

We’d met for dinner at a small trendy downtown restaurant. All had considered that it would be easier to just go home after work, but the three of us arrived at six-thirty as planned. Our weariness turned into silly energy with each giggle. We were bad. We laughed about and complained about the men in our lives, while flirting with the tall Spanish bartender.

Over drinks, we discussed the possible derivations of the words (said with emphasis on sexual innuendo) cocktail and highball, and criticized our husbands’ domestic abilities. After our first drink, our table wasn’t ready, so we ordered another round. I had a white wine spritzer, Paula kicked me under the bar table and ordered a shot of (I swear these are real drinks), "hot sex," and Gina followed her lead ordering a "slow screw." Both made little pouty lips and enunciated their orders. My lips were pressed together and skinny trying to hold in my giggle. At seven-fifteen we were still waiting and complaining about our husbands’ whiskers in the bathroom sink.

Recognizing our drinks were sloshing through our heads and making the floor tilt as we walked to our table, we all passed on wine with dinner. Over salads, made with shiitake mushrooms, baby boston lettuce, raddicho, and nasturtium blooms, we made fun of our mens' mismatched clothes and gloried in our ability to keep them presentable. We discussed Brad Pitt’s recent appearance on Oprah, and decided he was a rare exception to the rule that grungy isn’t sexy. Well, maybe Harrison Ford too -- he still looked sexy in his dirty Indiana Jones persona. Oh yea, and Paul Newman, remember his "Cool Hand Luke" sensual glare, grin and walk while clothed in sweaty prison clothes. We all said that he could leave his whiskers in our sink anytime. But we preferred that our husbands be color-coordinated and well groomed.

Over mahi-mahi with mango chutney, blackened chicken on a bed of brussel sprout and turnip puree, and red pepper pesto penne, we complained about our husbands’ table manners. They are happy with a sloppy joe eaten over the sink. They don’t appreciate the special effort we make to prepare beautiful and nutritious dinners. Paula wanted to know why, between the three of us, we couldn’t only name one man who does at least half the cooking and cleaning at home. We started to get mad, and then started laughing at the disasters our husbands cooked when they tried.

Boiled chicken thighs (kidneys not cleaned from the back, so that smelly white and brown scum accents the anemic pimpled flabby skin) is served with a white rice mortar and Wonder Bread.

Spaghetti cooked the sauce, this innovation causes the sauce to stiffen from the starch of the pasta so that it can be unmolded from the kettle, sliced, and served with a side of red Jell-O. If greens are a must, pickles can be added for a zesty side dish.

Barbecued meat, doesn't matter what kind, is a summer favorite. After obtaining a neighborhood survey on the pyramid or loose stack method, pile the briquettes. Pour a starter fluid (The amount is directly proportional to the amount of testosterone circulating in the pourer's blood stream.) on the briquettes and light a pack of matches on the paper cover, drop on briquettes, and run like hell. When the flames die down, play with the briquettes and move them around until the face is three quarters covered in soot. Apply the meat. If the fire isn’t hot enough (it never is) apply more lighter fluid. This will assure your meat will have a crunchy incinerated exterior and a raw interior. Serve with beer to cleanse the palate of lingering petro.

Then, as I said, we got sick of ourselves and decided to make a list of what we wanted in a man.

honest
polite
tidy
well dressed
urbane
distinguished
wealthy
virile

We were happy with our list, until we realized that we had described Tony Randall. Realizing we liked Tony, but were never hot for him, we stopped laughing, pushed away our blackberry gelato, and went home to our respective husbands.