Some things make me giddily happy, like “tights and boots” weather, making braised meat stews in winter, kicking ass at work, and volunteering with the Junior League.
Not many things, though, make me as happy as spending time with my girlfriends. There’s just nothing like sipping a cocktail; talking about shopping, work, and boys; and laughing giant belly laughs with really fantastic people, which is exactly what I did tonight.
What’s great about my friends is that we never sit around and turn into mean girls like so many women I know; we don’t gossip incessantly or get jealous when one of us does well or lands a date with the super hot guy we’ve all been lusting over. Nope — my friends inspire me, support me, keep me grounded, and make me bowl over with laughter. They’re wicked smart and extremely successful in their professional lives. They care about their friends and families just like I do and, when one of us is down and out, they are the first person calling to be by your side. They also float me money for the valet parking I inevitably use but for which I never have cash. Basically, my friends are amazing people.
We had a weekly Thursday thing until a couple of months ago when we all went through some big events in our lives; we didn’t stop talking, natch, but our “Real Housewives” Thursday night ritual1 went on a bit of a hiatus. It had been two weeks since we’d gotten together, and we pretty much sucked up every bit of oxygen in the room catching up. Three hours later, with tummies full of good food, good wine, and soreness from the copious laughing, we hugged each other, kissed each others’ cheeks, said our “I love yous”, and made plans to get together the following week.
As we were leaving, three other women were leaving together. They were considerably older than us, but looked like they’d had as much fun as we had. They hugged each other, kissed each others’ cheeks, told each other they were loved, and went on their merry little ways. We just looked at each other, giggled, and said “there we are in 30 years.”
1And by “Real Housewives ritual”, I mean drinking a ton of wine and only getting through ten minutes of the show.