Picture this. Thirteen grown women come together to help celebrate insurance guy/photographer Tom Schiff’s birthday. Expert party planner Sarah and Tom’s girlfriend Mary Ellen invite us: a baker’s dozen of fun-loving Friends of Tom. We pile in a super-sized limo and head off to the 50 Cent tune "In Da Club," singing "It’s Your Birthday." Where to? The Toy Lab!

At the base of Beechmont levee and a stone’s throw from the former site of the wonderfully seedy El Rancho Rankin, we are greeted by a hot version of the nutty professor: Professor Yot, a.k.a. Sean Mullaney (and, I hope after meeting him, my toy boyfriend). Mullaney and Tommy Rueff of Happen, Inc., a not-for-profit family arts group, teamed up to put Mullaney’s gift for toy-making (he’s got 17 patents!) and workshops into a real space where kids of all ages can invent their own toys. The profits help the happenings at Happen, Inc.

So here we are, in this extremely well-lit, Nickelodeon-inspired lab, ready to make some toys. But we take a toy quiz first, to assess our toy and game knowledge. And that’s when it happens. Right before we forage through bins of broken toy parts for bright plastic, new-toy potential (imagine the bottom of your kid’s toy box, but really well-organized—as if Martha Stewart had to do time at your house), we quit acting like grown women. Our high school personalities win out over our supposedly evolved, polished-up adult personae. Here is a snapshot:

Me (in a whisper so as not to get in trouble with the professor): "You are about to find out that I am a very competitive people-pleaser."

Betsy (blue eyes flashing bluer, signaling there will be hell to pay): "And you are about to find out that I win every time."

Leah (with a high-schoolian flip of the hair): "I’m finished already. I’m just here for the extra credit."

Deni (who sports a name tag that identifies her as "Trouble." And she is): "Are we allowed to drink in here? Are we done yet?"

Professor Yot (in fake Russian accent): "Please raise your hands if you vant to answer the question!"

All (waving hands, half-trying to look provocative, half-trying to look earnest. I try to pull off provocatively earnest): "Pick me, pick me, pick me!"

Poor Birthday Boy Tom. And the poor Toy Lab guys. I am sure at first it seemed like it was a great idea—a slew of attractive women piling out of a huge limo into their lab for a night of fun. But as we packed up our toys, I could see it in their eyes: utter relief.

Let’s face it, ladies. We are a lot of work. And we aren’t too far from our high school selves. But once we realize this simple truth we can get back to more important matters: like winning the toy competition and landing the toy boyfriend.

And Betsy, no matter what anyone says, my toy beat your toy.