As you may know, I am friends with this kid. It's been over eleven years. As you may not know, we were born six days apart in the same year. Which means, blessedly, that we turn the same age at nearly the same time, and whenever there are feelings of curmudgeonliness about said birthday, they can be shared. Wallowed in or embraced.
On Saturday, Alexis and I went snow tubing. It had been such a very long time before I'd done anything designed to get the adrenaline going-- years, YEARS-- and I wasn't prepared for how good it would feel to zoom head-first down a very steep white hill hollering Oooooooh SHhhhhIIITTT!!! at the top of my lungs.
I may have corrupted some innocents. But hey, I'm 30. To them I'm an old lady, and old ladies are supposed to be profane, right? Are we also supposed to drink vodka at the top of the hill we slide down? Yes?
Well, I'd say mission accomplished there. There's something a little thug about us in this one. Makes me chuckle.
We rounded out the day with dinner and wine at a very old-school restaurant where the marvelous French onion soup swam beneath an unctuous layer of liquid tallow. It was the perfect indulgence.