Young at heart

My friend Jenny is the closest thing I have to a sister.  We've been inseparable since we were 8 and she told me she liked the pink fruffy dress (my Easter dress) that I'd begged my Mom to wear to school that day.  Oh, sure, we've lived in different cities from time to time over the years, but with the understanding that we were never more than a phone call away from each other.  She and my kids have a mutual adoration society going on, and to them, she is "Tia Jenny". 

I bug her all the time, because sometimes it's good to talk to another grown up that's known you all your life.  Someone that'll tell you to stop being such a....a MOM, that you've forgotten how to talk to her in sentences that don't begin with a name other than your own.  And while it is true that we don't always see eye to eye on my kids, we usually can find middle ground or concede that the other has the better argument.  For example, if I let her have her way, my boys would be rock-climbing, bike-riding, bungee-jumping outdoorsmen catching fish with their bare hands.  At age 5. Don't even get me started on her plans for Audrey.

I, on the other hand, according to her, would rather envelop those boys in shrink-bubble-wrap to prevent them from ever getting hurt while they are riding their bikes down the street in front of our house.  It's all about perspective, lol, and it's good to have hers sometimes when I'm a little out of overprotective control.  She reminds me to let go.  And she reminds me to take time out for me, and not feel bad about it.  

I even have to give her credit with introducing me to Mr W.  She was talking to him after a school event when I came up to meet her (her Dad was our ride home).  I was standing there listening to their conversation, and she turns to me, "Oh, have you met...".  I looked up at him, into those amazing eyes of his, and the rest is history. 

As I mentioned, I bother her all the time, usually when she's at work.  This is troublesome for her at times because she isn't in a private place there, just a giant cubicle with people all around her, and sometimes the topics we are discussing aren't fit for her coworker's ears. "You know I can't talk," she whisper/hisses into the phone, "about that."

Yesterday, I called her with a special question.  "I need some fashion advice."  "Yes, pink is your color."  "Nooo, that's not it.  I need to know, um, well...okay here's the problem, I have a couple of hickeys." <I hear her snicker> "And I need to know, if you were me, would you sport them with pride, and let the world see them, or would you go with the mock turtleneck and hope no one could spot 'em?"

"You know, if I was at home right now, I'd be lmao, because I'd feel it was karmic retribution that you have this problem to begin with after you wrote about that picture of 'I could tell it was her from the shape of her hair'.  Since I'm not, I'd say that I'd personally go for the conservative look."

"Oh, you read that?"

"Actually no, I didn't read it, Chad and Phil did.  They read your journal more than I do, and they were the ones that told me about it."

Oops. But I'm pleased.  I thought the only other guys that read this were my hubby (when I think he might like the entry) and Remo.  (Hello and welcome, c & p.  mmm-mmah)

"OOO, the boys read this?  Holy crap, am I glad you told me, because your wonder-boy almost made it into an entry just the other day.  In a favorable light, of course." 

"Of course."

I went with the mock turtleneck.  And Mr W was embarassed about leaving his mark, so to speak.  At least that what he says.  The look on his face says otherwise.  I told him so. "No, really, I'm kinda embarassed.  Here I am, 40 years old, leaving hickeys on my 36 year old wife.  That's sort of, well.." 

"Tacky?  You're birthday isn't until Friday, dude, and I'd say that I think you are a little proud of yourself, from the look on your face."  "I'm not."  "Oh, come on.  At least be grateful that at your age, you are still um, managing.  Without medical assistance."  I had to duck and run at that point.  Some things a girl just shouldn't joke about.

I was just talking about his upcoming b-day, mentioning to a friend that "when did that cute 17 year old boy I used to date turn into a man?  omg, he's gonna be 40."  (and he's still quite the looker)

Oh, I don't think that 17 yr old boy went too far away.  And I bear the marks on my neck to prove it.