Gather 'round, kids, while Uncle Sauron tells you the secret to having ten hot women spend an entire weekend at your house.
Ready?
Alcohol.
Now, go get Uncle Sauron some more chips.
It will probably go down as one of the greatest weekends of my life – the only male in a house absolutely chock-full of beautiful women. And not only was my wife, the lovely and talented Aries28, in full agreement with this plan … she’s the one who invited all the women in the first place.
See, it started off as a plan to have a quiet weekend with a friend or two of hers from Memphis, Tennessee coming to visit. We arranged childcare for the various Minions of Sauron, so they’d have the house to themselves. I figured I’d stay away for most of the weekend, maybe even get a hotel room, so they could have the house to themselves. If I wasn’t around, they wouldn’t feel awkward having the Chippendale’s Dancers in. (My incredibly manly physique, honed to perfection by hours of sitting in front of the computer every day eating Fritos, tends to intimidate those of a lesser stature. I’ve seen male dancers weeping with envy and shame when they encounter me.)
But as the plans for the quiet weekend progressed, the guest list grew. Some friends from Chicago decided to fly in. Others were driving from Atlanta. Baltimore and Ann Arbor representatives were contacted and agreed to come to the summit. And lo and behold, by the time mid-February rolled around, we had nine female guests coming for the weekend. I was in equal parts stunned, amused, and scared out of my wits.
Because, let’s face it, as a gender we males have a difficult enough time dealing with one woman on a regular basis. We’re stupid that way. Being the only male in a house full of 10 women was a challenge daunting enough to make James Bond quail. And manly physique can only take you so far. I was searching for flights to Bolivia when Aries28 stopped me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m … uh … just trying to figure out what I should do while all your friends are here.”
She snuggled up to me, wrapped her arms around me, and gave me a warm kiss. “I want you right here all weekend.”
I flushed with pride … and, I must admit, a tinge of anticipation. Every single pubescent dream I’d ever had was coming true. “Really?”
“Yes. I need you to handle the cleaning, the laundry and the cooking while I’m talking to everybody.”
That’s the good thing about my wife … my ego is never in danger of over-inflating while she’s around.
So we began stocking up for the weekend. When my wife said “We need to stock up,” I automatically assumed she meant groceries. We were motoring cheerfully to our local Winn-Dixie when she gave me The Look.
“Where are you going?”
I played dumb. Fortunately, this isn’t difficult for me; I can do that and still drive. Manly and talented, that’s me.
“Winn-Dixie. Where should we be going?”
“I said we needed to stock up. These girls don’t care about food. We need booze.”
So I turned around and headed to the liquor store, where we spent more on alcohol than it would’ve cost me to fly to Bolivia. As I was staggering back to the car with the second load of bags, my wife said, “Okay, this is good for a start, but they didn’t have everything we needed.” I gazed at the mounds of bottles, jiggers, mixers, magnums and other assorted containers in disbelief.
“Shouldn’t we get some food or something? Don’t you guys want to eat sometime this weekend?”
My wife gave me that killer smile she has. “You’re so cute when you’re stupid.”
I was up to the challenge. “That’s why I’m stupid all the time, so I’ll be cute.”
The big weekend came, and the ladies began arriving. Some were Dopers, some were LiveJournal friends, and some were there just because they’d heard about the get-together through that intuitive female communication grapevine. (Names are being withheld … not to protect the innocent, but to dodge a couple of outstanding warrants that were issued over the weekend.) I had put on one of my best shirts, and one of the two pairs of jeans that still fit me, in an effort to look suave and dashing and debonair for these beautiful ladies. My wife cocked her head to the side when she saw me.
“Is this okay?” I asked, attempting to pull in my gut and flex my muscles.
“It looks fine,” she said, “but aren’t you afraid you’ll get dishwater on your good clothes?”
So I can’t really give you any insights on what ten hot women do or talk about when they have a whole weekend to themselves. I cooked and cleaned and basically acted as a eunuch to the harem. My wife said many of the ladies are now in love with me. Not because of my rock-hard physique. Not because of my warm, understanding brown eyes, or my gentle yet biting wit. It’s because of the way I scrubbed the counter extra-hard while wiping it down, and the way I looked as I loaded the washing machine. Not to mention the saucy little flip I gave the washcloth as I rinsed the dishes.
However, in between the chores, I was able to glean a few tidbits for those of you who want to have ten gorgeous women visit you for a weekend:
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Have LOTS of alcohol. No matter how much you have on hand, get more. Trust me on this one.
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Have my wife visit you. Not only is she hot, but she has a lot of beautiful female friends she can bring along.
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Quit going to the gym. Concentrate instead on home-ec classes.
