Last night Marci arrived, on her 40th birthday no less, and we celebrated at Los Dos. Marci and I met when we landed on the same marching band squad in summer band before our 10th grade year. Something about sweating in the insane August sun in Texas for hours every day bonds people together, similar to death camps, I would imagine.
We were fast friends and best friends from then on. She left band for the Lariette Drill Team the next year and I stuck with band (for the most part). In between our different interests, though, was one of those friendships that picks up right where it leaves off every time we get back together.
Nights at each others houses, Marci patiently trying to teach me dances in her room, swimming in my pool, sharing boyfriend stories, defending each other from the wrongs of other high school girls . . .
yeah, things have changed just a bit over the intervening decades.
We were laughing at our perception of 40 when we were 16 and had our whole lives ahead of us.
40 was over-the-hill and through the woods and winding down.
Last night, we decided 100 was the real over-the-hill number, and we've still got our whole lives ahead of us.
And when we're sipping margaritas through straws at the nursing home, conveniently forgetting how many we've already had, and celebrating her 100th (cause she'll always be older -- ha!) we might just move that back another 20 years and see how it goes.
Happy Birthday Marci. I love you.
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