I caught up with an old friend last night. One phone call, a couple squeals and two sentences later, we were already talking about condoms and weight-gain. It was as if nearly two years hadn't passed since we last spoke.
It was a friendship that slipped through the cracks nearly two years ago following one ugly breakup and a subsequent move north. The phone calls slowly stopped, and before I knew it, the calendar read January 2007. I'd last spoken to her in early 2005.
We became college roommates in 2002, inseparable by 2003, and strangers in 2005. But in that time she came to know every minute detail of my life, and I, hers. So catching up on two years of life lived apart felt like a game of 20 Questions, followed by responses like,
"NO. You're kidding?"
"I'm SO happy for you!"
"I've gained so much weight."
"If I was a pregnant bride, I'd be SO pissed."
No, neither of us are pregnant. But both of us are summer brides, her wedding just two weeks before my own. So we shared wedding details, exchanged ideas and agreed that, "Yes. WE are the brides. WE get to make the decisions."
Luckily, I've known her fiance almost as long as I've known her, but trying to give her a play-by-play of who my fiance is seemed a little tricky.
"Yes, he's finishing school to be a golf pro. No, not like Tiger Woods. Nope, not an alcoholic. Yes, I did lose my virginity to his best friend in high school."
So, I'm excited to get together with her soon to finish the squealing and the wedding planning and hopefully introduce her to the man that, "Yes, definitely stands up to pee."