Craig Daily Press

On Friday night, a few of my close girlfriends dressed up in shiny metallic, flashy high heels and push-up bras to go out downtown to the grand opening of a new 18-and-over club.

I sat there like a top model judge pairing shoes with dresses and eye shadow with purses. And after the third “You look really cute,” it was time.

Time for the girls night out.

A girls night out is a way to talk about everything on your mind. It is a night to break away from the drama that comes with boys. There is no need to call dibs on the cute guy who walks through the door behind all the dorky ones because your main concern on a girl’s night out is your girls. So, like boys have poker night, we have girls night.

But on this night, I decided to take the night off and put my feet up after a long week of tests, deadlines and physical therapy.

I was content with the silence, and the small clicks of the washer and dryer were like a lullaby putting me to sleep. Just the light of a small lamp and a few candles lit the room. I wasn’t expecting visitors. I wasn’t expecting a phone call. I was just expecting to be alone, just my brace and I.

But these expectations were too good to be true, and the unexpected became the expected. At this point, a “girls night” turned into a nightmare. This is the reason I usually make a Venn diagram displaying the pros and cons of a girls night out. Each time, they are much of the same.

Pros: No boys to fight over, chance to drink martinis instead of beer, indulging in chocolate desserts and using less makeup.

Cons: No boys to fight over, fancy martinis instead of beer, too much chocolate about ex-boyfriends and makeup.

So, when my three girlfriends returned within an hour from their departure — one in tears, one in nervous laughter, and the other M.I.A. — I wasn’t surprised. Because this is the typical conclusion of a girls night out, it is the need for attention from boys that disrupts a girls night out.

In this instance, my roommate tried to face the drama behind her breakup. But she returned with less closure and a tear-stained dress. She blamed herself. She blamed the alcohol. But she didn’t blame him, because if she did, every night would have to be a girls night out.

I love my girlfriends here at school and know each and every one of them will be my bridesmaid in my big fat Greek wedding. They care. Each of them possesses a unique quality that solidifies their beauty. And when they ask me, “How are you?” and don’t go babbling on about their breakup or bad grade on a test, they really care.

And so do I.

But, I am a guy’s girl.

I am the girl who watches NCAA basketball on Saturday afternoons while cleaning the kitchen as other girls watch all day marathons of celebrity rehab. I am the girl who would rather body board in the ocean than lay out tanning and whistling at all the cute boys who pass by. A girl who can sit down with a group of guys and talk without flirting, because they are my friends not possible love interests.

That is who I am.

This is the reason I am still getting used to the idea of a girls night out.

For example: On Saturday night, my best friend’s father came to town. His name was Joe, but he wasn’t a Joe Smoe. He was a girl’s guy.

Much like a comfort food, one felt taken care of in Joe’s hands. There was no need to find parking because Joe had it taken care of. And after giving the valet boy a tip Joe noticed that all of us girls were giggling over the valet boy’s good looks. Joe introduced himself and us girls to shed us from embarrassment. By the end of the night, the valet boy had my number on a brown paper take-out bag.

And when all of us girls pretended that we were too full for dessert Joe ordered two, because he knew that a way to a woman’s heart is dessert.

I felt as if my father was right there wrapping his arm around me calling me doll and holding my hand as we walked into the restaurant. I missed him. Because he is the reason I am a guy’s girl.

He is the one who drove me around putting out salt for the cows at the ranch. The one who pushed me to play basketball since I was in kindergarten. He made me strong by making me trail hundreds of cattle in the hot summer sun. Without this strength, I wouldn’t be here in San Diego.

My father showed me. He showed me the qualities of a real man. It is men like him who make me appreciate being a guy’s girl.