The weekend was in front of us, full of the possibilities of awesomeness. We had packed fishing gear, slingshots, bikes, swimsuits, whiskey and (most importantly) two dirt bikes.  And though I am a wee bit too small to wield a 125 KTM two-stroke, I had brought along my new boots and helmet; I may not be able to drive but ride along I certainly would.

My blood raced thru me as my anticipation rose.  I packed with gusto; baking fresh blueberry muffins & even remembering to charge my camera.  I helped load the trailer and tie down the dirt bikes.

Along with us we also brought a friend and his girlfriend; a couple that resonates city life and city mentality as much as I still grasp at my country roots. They are great people but I can’t quite abide by the “boys will be boys” and the girls will stick around and cook, do the dishes and sunbathe as they so easily live by.

Somehow, that’s where I was. The weekend that I had dreamed about—the one I was so sure would be bursting with excitement—turned into me hiding from the sun, resenting those very dirt bikes as I twiddled my thumbs at the campsite.  I listened to the engines scream as they echoed thru the valley while the Girlfriend lounged in the sun, reading her romance novels on her Kindle.  I searched the area for something to do. I splashed for a while in the river by myself. I rode my bicycle in circles. I thought a lot about home where its never girls and boys—it’s us. It’s whoever wants to have fun.

Later, when there was obvious resentment, us ‘girls’ were dropped at another bend in the river—expected to enjoy our “lady time”—though we have little more than the friendship between our boyfriends in common.  It was a beautiful beach on the river. There was a tree to climb and launch off into a pool of water. Yet somehow, I couldn’t help but to be annoyed. I wanted to ride. I wanted to play together.

When the bikes were parked—the ride, the technique—the dirt bikes themselves flooded the conversation. So now that they were here, I was left out of this too.  I had nothing to add because all that I had done was sit around in frustrated boredom.

I am a fairly girlie-girl. I wear dresses and red lipstick. I bake and giggle constantly. But I am also a bit wild—I am rowdy—I am an equal.  And I want to have fun just as much as the boys do.

I don’t need to be “one of the boys” but I sure as hell won’t be designated or left behind in the “girl camp”.

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