One of the more unfortunate clichés brought on by the chick lit wave was that of the Girls’ Night Out–a raucous group of females pounding down the cosmos or lemon drops until one, or several of them, ended up either hooking up with Mr. Right Now or, more likely, throwing up into a bush, on their expensive shoes, or onto Mr. Right. Or some combination thereof. I can’t say I miss those days or plot moments.

I think what chick lit missed was the whole point of happy hour–to be happy. That’s what Chez mimi is going to do this evening. Mr. Man and I, with Frick and Frack, are heading over to our friends’ house for a true happy hour. There will probably be liquor, but not enough to make anyone throw up, and good food and lots of laughter. And that, my friends, is what happy hour is all about.