Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: That Time I Met the Real Housewives of Copacabana

There we were, riding out the final days of our friend's 40th birthday blowout in Brazil sun-dazed, slightly hungover, and parked on the famous Copacabana beach. Yes, Barry Manilow was playing on a loop in my head, and no, I didn't fight it.

Suddenly, my friend Kandis gets summoned. Not catcalled, not waved over, summoned by a group of four fabulous women who requested she "come speak in your American accent." Because we're a novelty item! She went. Obviously.

Five minutes later, we were fully inducted into their sandy little VIP lounge, ice buckets of prosecco, champagne flutes on a beach towel, and zero chill. These ladies were not your average cooler-of-Beer-on-the-Beach crowd. Think more Real Housewives: Beachfront Edition, minus the Bravo cameras (unfortunately).

One of them still lived locally; the other three now resided in the U.S. with various husbands but made an annual two-month "family visit" that looked suspiciously like a sun-soaked prosecco marathon.

They schooled us fast:

Rule #1: Never take your real phone to the beach. That adorable kid playing soccer? He's faster than the road runner and will rob you blind while doing kick tricks.

Rule #2: Never. Ever. Run out of prosecco.

They lived by this creed.

The local queen bee waded through sand like she was storming Versailles, returning triumphantly each time with more chilled bottles, like some kind of boozy beach sorceress. Honestly, I was ready to give her a standing ovation or a tiara.

Then, somewhere between the second and fifth bottle, they turned their attention to our birthday boy. Apparently, he needed a "Brazilian romance" to complete his 40th festivities. Boyfriend might be a generous term this was more of a "beach liaison starter pack." They took it as a personal mission. Sadly, no one was successfully recruited, but spirits remained high. (So did we, frankly, on prosecco and sun.)

They say Rio leaves its mark on you. In our case, it was mostly sunburn, a wicked buzz, and a renewed belief in the power of tipsy strangers.