Remind Me What Friends Are For?

I've always said that in politics, your enemies can't hurt you, but your friends will kill you.

Ann Richards

Last night, two of my girlfriends and I walked to the corner Wag-A-Bag for a bottle of wine. That we were walking should not be an indication of our condition. At all. Anyway, while walking on the sidewalk in front of them, my friend JC said,

“I think your exercise is working, Julie. Your ass isn’t as big as it used to be.”

“Yeah,” KO said. “It’s not nearly as wide as it was in that picture when you mooned us at the beach.”

I gazed up into the street light above, trying to decide how to receive these, these comments. As I recalled, I wasn’t the only one catching a breeze that day at the beach. I distinctly remember a line of us, like four old broads testing the hypothesis that women over 50 are invisible. And I truly believe the camera that caught that flash of mid-life girlfriend's weekend-at-the-beach-tomfoolery had a faulty lens. No way was that my real rear end.

But since these women and I have been friends for almost twenty years, and I know them well enough to know this was their way of giving me a compliment, I only nodded, and said a simple "Thank you."

Guess I really will have to keep going to the Y.