She: Five days have gone by and I think my eyes are finally fully open again.

Z: That party rocked! A rip-roaring, bacchanalian, festival of debauchery!

She: I’ve had a lot of hangovers over the years, but nothing like this before.

Z: Twelve Tylenol and a gallon jug of orange juice.

She: Three martinis at Harry’s are nothing compared to this.

Z: Not when you put them in a cage match against …

She: Slumber party!

Z: Aieeeee!

She: Eight kids younger than age 10. Enough to strike terror into the heart of any rational parent.

Z: Which we’re clearly not. Slumber parties are brutal, especially when you’re the one who’s not slumbering.

She: Who knew that living in a frat house the summer of 1985 would have been my best college prep for life?

Z: Was there a sheep at the party? I missed that.

She: Eww. No. Eww. I mean because of how disgusting our house is.

Z: Living in the shack isn’t that bad.

She: No, it’s actually a great house for a kid’s birthday party since there’s nothing here that I care if they thrash.

Z: See? A great house! Am I the best provider in the world, or what?

She: What?

Z: You know you love to entertain and show off our house.

She: Yes. It’s a regular Barbie Dream House come to life, only without the sturdy, plastic construction. The furniture is old and falling apart, the carpet is disgusting, the yard is full of weeds and the walls are being held up by four coats of paint.

Z: Isn’t it awesome?

She: The kids loved it.

Z: How could they not?

She: I’m sure their parents did, too. Not only did we let their children destroy our house and play with fire, we let them stay here and sleep it off afterward.

Z: You think they slept?

She: Well, I use the word “sleep” in a very inexact way. I yelled at them at midnight to go to sleep, and then I followed my own advice.

Z: I was shocked, shocked I tell you, to find out they sneaked back out and played Stratego until 2 in the morning. At least they got a good solid four hours of sleep after that.

She: I can’t imagine why Koss has been so fragile all week.

Z: I think Mr. Law and Order got too stressed out by our illegal fireworks show.

She: But not me. I was very good.

Z: Definitely better than Jared, who kept yelling, “Here come the coppers! Here come the coppers!”

She: I had no idea we’d have a 9-year-old guest who learned his slang from 1930s talkies.

Z: I knew we shouldn’t have given them that bathtub gin.

She: You still haven’t given me props for not freaking out about the fireworks myself.

Z: Oh. Yeah. You were very brave for not needing any Valium because we lit a few sparklers in the middle of our blacktop driveway.

She: I wasn’t at all worried about the driveway, but I was worried about the kids’ toes.

Z: I’ll give you that. Next year we should definitely do a shoe check.

She: Next year? You think we’re doing this again next year? Do you realize how old I’m going to be on Koss’ birthday next year?

Z: Yes, dear.

Share your slumber party adventures with She and Z at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.