Witch Night

Last night I went over to Hecate's apartment. She told me Bathory was having a crisis at work and was running late.
I sat down by the TV and a Playtex commercial was playing:
"Now when you're on your period, you can say, it's not a problem," the voiceover cooly exclaimed as an image of a model in hot pants, welding, flashed upon the screen.
"It's not a problem? It's not a problem?" I asked Hecate, vexed and perplexed.
"Why do all the tampon boxes come in light pink and blue?" Hecate philosophized. "When you're on the rag you're obviously not thinking about babies."
Soon we found ourselves being driven by Hecate's wizard husband, Merlin, to the pizza joint.
Hecate and I were waiting at the bar for Bathory. But we must have forgotten to remove our invisible cloaks as we couldn't seem to get served by the bartender.
Finally we got his attention. And after asking him for a red wine recommendation, we found ourselves drinking--surprize!--the most expensive red on the menu.
After downing a glass or two and comparing pentagram charms, Bathory emerged from the fog outside and the three witches sat down to eat.
At the table behind us, three girly-girls were shrieking, apparently possessed by some Sex and the City demon.
I pulled out my trusty witch handbook and looked under "girly-girl spells."
"Let's see...three toad nails, a teaspoon of snake blood, three horse hairs, a rat's tail and a shot of Jager..."
We dug into our leather sachels, came up with the ingredients and placed them in our empty bottle of sparkling water.
We held hands and started speaking in tongues as our waitress refilled our wine glasses.
Suddenly, the shrieking at the next table stopped.
We turned to find the girly-girls frozen in their expressions, cheese and crust still visible in their open mouths.
"Don't thaw them out till the new moon," we advised the hostess, excusing ourselves.
Walking out into the dark night, we were escorted home by a pack of starving, yellow-eyed wolves.