Several years ago, my best friend and I were taking a drive down to Mexico. “Drug Run” we called it, as the purpose of the trip was to buy medication for my father, who’s on a fixed income. His medicine is far less expensive over the border. I looked forward to the “drug runs” with my girlfriend, as it got me away from my husband and kids for almost a whole day. And I love to drive. What’s not to like? Spending a whole day with your very best girlfriend, no “are we there yet?” from the backseat, and all the while doing something really nice and valuable for my dad.
And as girlfriends do, on this particular day, we had spent most of the two hour drive south bitching about our respective husbands, whining about our bosses, and verbally assassinating everyone else we didn’t like. I think we were both hormonal, come to think of it. Almost at the Mexican border, I said, “well you know, once the last one is grown and gone I’m gonna up and leave that man and get me a hideaway somewhere and only you can come visit me.” She replied, “hell I’m gonna live with you, what are you talking about, visiting?”
At that precise moment we looked out the window and there sat a pink double-wide trailer home, right on the border. “That’s it!” we both shouted. A pink double-wide trailer home, nestled under some large desert trees, blissfully far away from anything civilized.
Thus began our fantasy escape plan. We’ll get us a pink trailer, stick it somewhere with trees. We’ll have a garden, and even an above-ground pool. We’ll each have us a passle of dogs: she will have a herd of small ones with big names like Rex and King, and I will have a herd of big dogs, with names like Speck and Tiny. We’ll furnish that double-wide with floral curtains and sofas, the kind our husbands won’t let us have now. We’ll have pink bathrooms, and stuffed animals and all the girl stuff our husbands don’t like. It will be a female-only sanctuary. We’ll have one pickup truck and one sports car. We’ll have candles everywhere, the real smelly kind that make our husbands gag, except there won’t be any husbands to complain. Our bedrooms will each have big soft beds, with floral comforters and lots of frilly pillows that our husbands find stupid. We’ll wear flannel pj’s and fuzzy house slippers and we won’t have to have sleepwear with thongs and lace to please our husbands because no men are allowed in the Pink Trailer. We will have a cabinet filled with potpourri, and there won’t be a man around within miles to complain of the smell. The toilet seat will always be down, and there will always be toilet paper on the holder! OMG! A Woman’s Heaven, yes, that’s our Pink Trailer.
The Pink Trailer grew and took on a life. It is a woman’s fantasy retreat, and it can change and be whatever it needs to be at any moment. I must confess that I mentally visit that Pink Trailer from time to time, when husband, kids, or life throw kinks in my path. “I can get through this, because I’ll have my Pink Trailer Reward some day.”
We tried explaining our Pink Trailer to our men, but they don’t understand. I suppose men have fantasies about leaving their wives and pitching tents at Home Depot. I dunno. I think that Pink Trailer represents a place of no compromise, of being true to one’s self. As the years have passed, I find myself regretting less the compromises I have made for the wrong reasons, i.e., “if I don’t give in he won’t like me”, and instead, I concentrate on holding firm to my values and beliefs, refusing to compromise for the sake of the opinion of others. As I age, I get more comfortable with who I am, and as I’m journeying into the second half of my life, I find I am not so-and-so’s wife, or someone’s mom, I am myself, and I grow more comfortable with that every day.
However, I still cave in and don that sexy lingerie for my husband, and I still cave in and make sure I don’t look like a hag when I’m out with my teenage daughter, but then, I have the down payment for the trailer cached away. Won’t be long now …