A Nice Lunch With Nice Gals

A nice lunch with nice gals, celebrating a nice birthday.  We discuss children and menopause, memory loss and hair color.  We order everything on the side.  We want things well-cooked and warm.  Except the salads.  They should be cold.  But not too cold.  We talk about high school.  Whatever happened to so-and-so?  Was so-and-so the older brother or the younger brother?  Definitely, he was the younger.  No, he was the older.  He was the younger.  We go back in forth until we land on another topic, a big one.  A daughter's getting married.  In a week.  Back east.  We talk about snow storms.  We worry with the mother of the bride.  We reassure.  It'll be fine.  It won't snow.  What are you wearing?  A dress.  Can you give us more details than that?  No.  The bride wants everything secret.  I can't wait to see it on Facebook.  That's a whole other topic.  Wedding guests are posting photos of weddings-in-progress.  Apparently, a no-no.  It spoils the fun for the bride and groom.  Let them see the photos first.  It's a strange new world.  Here's dessert for the birthday girl, who'd rather forget it's her birthday.  So why do we keep reminding her?  We can't help it.  We sing to her.  She blows out the candle and makes a wish.  No photos please.  I look terrible.  I look worse.  You look great.  You do, too.  I love your hair.  I love your face.  I love you, too.  A nice lunch with nice gals.  A long drive home.  An hour in traffic.  A little NPR.  A little music.  A dog at the door, expecting a treat, just for being adorable.  Here it is. Good doggy.  Woof.