The Ranchettes Ride Again

Back in the day we were wild things...The Girls of the Rubber Rose Ranch. Betsy, the blonde on the left, was my bff before the phrase was even coined. We met when we were 5 and were best friends through thick and thin.

Later, in college, we all moved into a huge apartment above a print shop and became the Ranchettes. Betsy and The Other Betsy (second from the right) trained horses and I sang country music in bars and VFWs, so the ranch theme seemed appropriate.

We made frozen daiquiris for all our important celebrations and drank champagne whenever someone broke our hearts.

Then, after college, we scattered to follow our separate paths.

The picture above was taken at one of our early reunions.

It was right after Betsy's baby was born. The rest of us were single and amazed that one of the Ranchettes could produce a living human being. It meant one of us at least had grown up.

I was clearly in awe.

And Betsy seemed so...different and yet...the same...

Over the years we have grown up...But this weekend, up at the cabin, the two Betsys are coming for another reunion. This will be the first time in years we've all been together without kids and families and other interferences.

The world is our oyster.

We could cause serious trouble.

We might go into Floyd Saturday night and dance. We might ride horses again with one of my neighbors. We might even meet the moonshiner. You just never know with us.

The last time I saw Betsy we went to South Philly to see The Night Watchman (Okay, so The Youngest Unnamed One wanted to go and we were along for the ride. But it must be said, we had listened to his music and we did like him...especially without Rage Against the Machine)

Anyway, we were not having a tame evening. In fact- let's just say it took a lot of physical therapy and other medical rehab before Betsy was able to walk again without a bad limp.

A broken kneecap is nothing to sneeze at.

But then, we were in South Philly. Around there, a busted leg is just the price of doing business.

(Still, I promised her this time I'd do whatever it took to make sure nothing bad happened.)

So see, we Ranchettes take our reunions seriously. We're not lightweights.

We're women. We're probably low on estrogen. And we're still dangerous.

Southwest Virginians, consider yourselves warned...