At least that’s when I think this photo was taken. Maybe 1972?

This is me (on the left) and Cheryl. Speedos, hot dogs, swim club. What more could we ask for?

Wait, let me answer that question. A life-long friendship. A memorable 8th grade visit to the horrors of Nature’s Classroom. High school years when we were up to no good. College years spent sharing wardrobe staples (rather than fighting over the last Esprit long black cotton skirt in our size? We split the cost and shared it). Matron of honor duties at each others’ weddings.

But Cheryl? Dude? About that maid of honor business. As you know, I spent a good part of my night going through pictures. I found pictures of me in a poufy pink number at your wedding… and pictures of you in a sexy black sheath at my wedding. Girlfriend, what’s up with that?

Not that it matters. How can I hold a grudge when I’ve got pictures and pictures and pictures like these?

And by the way, how much do you think the City of Stamford paid us to talk about your hair? Because clearly, we were deeply engrossed in that conversation. Who can be bothered looking at the water when there’s so many important topics to discuss?

I love you girlfriend!

Not only did my best friend come by to read my post about the two of us up to no good whatsoever in high school. So did her mom. Her mother, who knows my parents. Really well.

Ha, ha, Mrs L., that was just a little creative writing. We never missed a class. Not in high school!  And certainly not in college!

But in the interest of full disclosure, earlier today your daughter and I were plotting a time when we can get together, and my first suggestion was “Well why don’t we pick a Friday when I can blow off work?” Old habits die hard.

I am 42 years old. And I am so busted.