I try to limit talking about other people on the blog. The parental units are an exception to this rule, but they aren’t shy about using their editorial powers. Friends are a different story. It’s not like Twitter doesn’t reveal our every nano-activity, but that doesn’t involve my droning commentary and an uncertain audience.
Today I’m going to make an exception.
When I moved to Hoboken, I landed in the middle of a group of six friends that do all of the annoying, movie-like girly stuff including but not limited to shopping, yoga, and even frequent dinner parties. We share clothes and wine and ambitions, but never boyfriends. Barf, I know.
Something terrible happened to one of us last week. Something that shook us all to the core and made us reevaluate what’s important and pray and cry and talk, A LOT. I’m so thankful to have friends like these -- the kind that show up when you need to move furniture; that let you sleep on their couch for a month; that score you free event tickets and make fun of you and let you use their building’s free washing machines and watch bad wedding shows with you and offer up their brother’s mob connections whenever you need them.
These girls are the best. And, I know we’ll come out of this stronger, smarter and forever closer.
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