Hella Old Friends
I spent yesterday with two friends who have known me since the days when we wore our white K-swiss, X-Large college sweatshirts, and another X-Large sweatshirt tied around our waists to hide our healthy-sized billowing behinds. No, wait…they’ve known me since the days when I wore Guido amounts of eye-liner and Wet n’ Wild 528. No, wait,…they’ve known me since we belted out Lionel Ritchie from the backseat on our way to a John Hughes movie. Anyway, the point is that they’ve known me a “long-ass” time, as we used to say. I would love to insert “long-ass” or “big-ass” in front of every noun, but people tend to regard 38-year-olds who speak like 13-teen-year olds as unfit for adult conversations about organic arugula.
Now we’re all fifteen pounds lighter and, at least two of us, more prone to show the shape of our behinds (though, as the weather has gotten nice, I’ve come to realize that it’s pointless to adopt wheat free diet if you drink dark beer and eat frozen yogurt every other day). Still, middle age has changed since my mom started pushing forty.
I will see them them and a whole other posse of old friends at my 20th high school reunion. Help…
Just for today, I can connect with old friends.