There is something about an event that starts with the word "Girls'", "Ladies'" or "Womens'" that strikes fear in the heart of many a man. Alas, though I've tried (and will continue trying), The Captain is no different. When I told him I was going to an expat "Girls Night Out" I think he immediately got the vision of a veritable United Nations of women coming together to devise ways to draw and quarter him for his many (real? imagined?) indiscretions against our fairer sex in his youth. While I did little to disuade his fears he was still kind enough to promise to pick me up when I was finished.
And so, yesterday evening I went to my first official expat event and the first proper female gathering I've been to in a while (not counting the day of my unfortunate accident). We handful of ladies gathered at the big soulless cinema to grab a pizza and check out a film. I had a great time enjoying the company and being regaled with great stories from a no-nonsense New Jersey native who's been here for 20 years. Later, while we sat in the film, I was able to help translate a few of the Arabic scenes for a Dutch member of the group using the Slovene subtitles (she's been here for a month longer than me but my Slovene is progressing faster since she spends all day speaking Dutch at the embassy!). So that was also fun.
When the movie ended, The Captain called to say he was almost there. I hugged all the women quickly, with promises to meet up again soon. As I skipped out to the car with a big smile on my face, The Captain grinned and flicked the door knob up. He was pleased to know that we'd only had light discussion over pizza and that his certain doom had been averted for at least one more day.