There are certain contexts where it’s best not to see one’s own mother. Most of those involve sequined thongs, bottom-less margaritas and the words “double down.” So I think most would understand my reticence when she and her two best office mates invited me along for their girls’ weekend in Vegas.

And when I say “reticence” of course I mean “strong desire to develop a fugue disorder.”

On the other hand, most folks have never been on the receiving end of one of my mother’s phone calls either.

Flash back to three months ago...

Mom: “Sweetheart, I’m going to Vegas with some girlfriends for my birthday. Why don’t you fly out and join us?”

Me: “Uh...”

Mom: “Of course, I understand if you’re too busy. As a single, working mother, I know I often found it difficult to make time to, say, bathe myself while making cookies for your third grade class, hand-sewing your Halloween costumes, shampooing the carpet that time you threw up after the...Oh, you can make it? Well, only if you want to, honey.”

So there I was in a double room on the strip watching one of my mother’s friends get ready for a concert where the singer, entirely unknown to my generation, was apparently a fine hunk of man-meat. And if one is going to watch a fine hunk of man-meat, a brand new bra and panty set is in order.

Her: “There’s good news, and there’s bad news.”

When your mother’s friend is about to tell you the bad news about her panties, it’s best to prepare yourself.

Her: (standing sideways to the mirror) “The good news is the girls are up to 1985 levels.”

Okay, I have to admit, there is something a little awesome about a woman who will openly discuss her cleavage in terms usually reserved for flood stages and national debt.

Her: “The bad news is these low-cut panties are just NASTY.”

My mother’s friend is wearing nasty panties. I can feel my world view starting to slip.

Mom: “Take them back.”

Her: “I can’t take them back. I’m already wearing them. Besides, then my underthings wouldn’t match.”

I am reminded of my author friend Sue Ann Jaffarian’s description of her series protagonist: “Odelia Grey, a mere mortal standing on the precipice of menopause, trying to cruise in an ill-fitting bra.”

And instantly I love this woman in her nasty panties. I want to grow up to be these ladies, these proudly middle-aged girlfriends who love each other, who have found comfort and support in one another and who invited me along. These women who have raised children, cared for husbands, had careers and are still wearing matching underthings.

Girls, you’re awesome.