How can you leave me?

I often call Audrey my island of oestrogen in a sea of testosterone. She is my shopping buddy, the one I go to when I hear an awesome new Macklemore song, and my fashion consultant when I'm running around the house with two different shoes on because I can't decide which one goes best with my outfit.

This afternoon she left me. She went with a carload of teens to Montreal to see a One Direction concert. When the car pulled up, all I heard was 1D and girls screaming singing. And they'd only been in the car 30 seconds. I feel sorry for Sylvia, who drew the short straw on this concert/hotel gig. We so owe her a drink (or 6) when she gets back. She'll be one of the walking wounded. Or at least stone deaf. At least I'll be able to keep in touch with her. Her high pitched squealing and crying will be audible even two hours away.

kxx