Recently, after a girlfriend cancelled out on some plans we had made for a Saturday night (at the last minute, of course), I was given a rare opportunity a lot of women only dream about.

After I sulked around the kitchen for a while, my fiance said, “You can stay around here if you like, Peg. Really. I’m sure the guys won’t mind.” Turning my face to hide my smile, I said, “Okay.” What I had managed to do was weasle my way into being present during one of the poker games he and his buddies hold several times a year. The rare opportunity bestowed upon me was that I was actually going to see “male bonding” in action!

I rode along with him to the liquor store, where he bought two cases of beer (which is quite unusual, as he’ll usually buy a six pack and it will sit in the fridge for a month or so until I ask him, “Are you going to drink that or what?”)

“You guys really aren’t going to drink that much, are you?” I asked.

“Easy,” he said.

At the check-out counter, he bought two packs of cigars. He detests smoking, so I asked, “Why are you buying those?”

All the guys smoke on poker night!” he exclaimed, looking at me like I was from another planet.

We’d been home only a few moments when the doorbell rang and in came three guys, all wearing Hawaiian print shirts and each carrying a twelve pack of beer under his arm. So, gals, point one: the guys will drink more beer than even you ever thought humanly possible. Point two: Hawaiian shirts are the dress code.

As the night continued, I realized “male bonders” (as I like to call them) have a special language women just don’t understand. I must have asked, “What does that mean?” at least twenty times during the night, only to be jeered and laughed at by the “bonders” themselves. It’s all part of the male bonding mystique, I suppose.

All in all, male bonders are a pretty harmless lot. Unless, of course, they pull out the nudie playing cards or the topic of women in general is brought up. Although talk of wives and girlfriends is strictly prohibited, any other woman is fair game for discussion. This is where disgusting and sordid jokes come into play—to the intense pleasure of those present.

Basically, I came to understand that male bonding consists of four things (listen up, girls): 1) swilling beer, 2) making bodily noises to the amusement of others, 3) putting each other down, and 4) purposely blowing cigar smoke in each others’ faces.

The night ends about 2 or 3 a.m., when there is no more beer to swill and one person is grinning like a Cheshire cat with all the money in front of him.

On the other hand, female bonding, as I once heard, consists of one basic ingredient: vanilla extract.

If a kitchen is available, buying and making chocolate chip cookies (with M & M’s sprinkled in, of course) is the first order of business. Only the oven isn’t heated. We gals just eat the dough right out of the mixing bowl.

If no kitchen is available, a trip to Jewel is in order. This is where we spend fifteen minutes inspecting the candy selection. After weighing the pros and cons of each brand of candy, several bags are chosen (just enough to feed a small family), and after whizzing by the frozen food section to grab a frozen Sara Lee Cheesecake (which is eaten frozen—who has time to let it thaw out?!), we head home where the food is devoured.

Alcohol is usually not a factor in female bonding, since once the sugar from the candy kicks in, any more would only throw us into a glucose-induced coma.

One point to note: A discussion of how goofy most men act in bars is a must—and is usually accompanied by play-by-play impersonations of each woman’s experiences with this phenomenon.

As opposed to men, our evening usually ends by 11 o’clock, since we’re bloated from eating too much and exhausted from laughing so hard.

Ah, vive la petite difference!