No, it was not the advance of Caesar’s warring legions. Rather it was five femme fatales from Florida that descended upon our defenseless city for one memorable weekend. And dear old Danville will never be the same.Becky, Angie, Barbara, Donna, and Linda are all longtime friends of ours from the Sunshine state, and members of our former church in Clermont. They also were part of a Bible study group that Sandy led for quite some time. This is their
second annual group trek to Southside Virginia to check in on the Davises since our move here a year and a half ago. The gang arrived on Friday and left on Monday. Yes, as you can imagine, it was a fun-filled, all-girl weekend at Davis Manor. Hairstyling. Pedicures. Chocolates. Wal-Mart runs. And the obligatory Chick flicks. You know, Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Notebook, Steel Magnolias, and so forth. Lots of laughter and tears. Plenty of tissues on hand.Obviously, as an only child (as well as a man
who never had a daughter), I could only absorb so much of this. And then only in small doses. So, I kept finding reasons to periodically excuse myself from these august proceedings. Thank God for hospital visits and surgeries and emergency ministry calls!Not since ol’ Jeff Davis fled from Danville’s Sutherlin Mansion to escape the clutches of the
advancing Union army had a guy named Davis felt such an urgent need to flee from his place of abode. But, alas, my hopes for ultimate deliverance were dashed. As with those valiant soldiers who made their last stand with Custer at the Little Big Horn or those gallant men who went down in a blaze of glory at the Alamo, in the end there would be no escape for me. My fate was sealed. I was trapped with no way out.
In a way, it was almost like being the only guy at a Red Hat Society convention. For a moment, I actually thought I was back in Greece again with my legendary Pink Ladies. You know, like last summer when on our youth mission trip I quite unexpectedly was put in charge of 9 independent-minded teenage “daughters” for a whole week.Herding cats was an image that repeatedly came to mind over the course of this weekend, just as it had last summer. Wherever we went together—me, driving a van with six high-octane women passengers, or me, the lone guy, eating out at some restaurant with six highly verbal & vivacious former Miss Americas—I could
see the looks I was getting from others. I don’t know if it was looks of sympathy, or envy, or perplexity. But I got plenty of looks, nonetheless. Even from the very moment the girls first arrived, a guy was standing on the curb at Raleigh-Durham Airport, laughing and shaking his head at me while I tried to load them and their luggage into the van. Then, on Monday, at the Brown Bean, when I said my “goodbyes” to our guests just before Sandy drove them back to the airport, I was still on the receiving end of the shaking head syndrome from the great cloud of witnesses that had gathered for lunch.
Why am I writing about this and what does all of this have to do with anything? Frankly, I don’t know. I just know that writing is somehow therapeutic for me (i.e., it helps me to vent.) I also know that all weekend long the Clermont girls lived in perpetual fear that I would blog about them and some of their antics. (Bear in mind, it didn’t curtail their antics. They just lived in fear as they went ahead and did what they pleased.) So, I decided that I should 
do what I could to help them realize their fears. Of course, I would never write about anything embarrassing, like the spontaneous food fight that erupted in our breakfast nook between two of the group’s most mature, demure, and genteel ladies. (Thank Heaven it happened on a hard surface floor, and not in the dining room, where we have carpet!) But never in a million years would I even think of revealing anything of that nature. After all, in an effort to encourage respectable behavior and maintain a proper air of decorum and dignity, I would never, ever want to publicly disclose anyone’s acts of misguided indiscretion.Well, it’s time bring this silly blog posting to a close, extending mercy both to its readers as well as to its subjects. Thanks for showing me some needed grace by being so understanding
of my pain and by enduring my extensive bloviating. I promise to elevate the tone and content of my blog with my next posting. All in all, I think that after this past weekend I just need to go away somewhere in order to settle my nerves. Perhaps when I reach the busy streets of Phnom Penh in a few days, I’ll finally be able to enjoy some peace and quiet. I don’t think they watch chick flicks in Cambodia. At least when the women there gather for discussion and dialogue, I won’t be able to understand what they’re saying.Pastor Danny
P. S. Please note that the names in the above tongue-in-cheek blog were not changed to protect the innocent because, after considerable reflection, it was determined that none of the aforementioned persons were without guilt. 
