I wanted to play. She, obviously, did not want to. I prodded and physically pulled her arm as if that would explain how fantastic my idea was. It was a warm Minnesota summer afternoon and it had just rained; my 10-year-old mind could not comprehend why she possibly wouldn’t want to slide in the grass.

I’ll get grass stains on my clothes, she said

<really?>

It’s all wet and rainy. We’ll get dirty.

<I was the one against taking showers, not sure who she was trying to convince with that one.>

I’m allergic to grass.

<I’m sure.>

It went on. And on. And on. So…I left her pouting on the back porch and went sliding in the grass all by myself. She watched me out of the corner of her eye, pretending not to care. I played it up and pretended like I was having the time of my life. And, in reality, I probably was.

This story always makes me laugh and I like to bring it up every now and then when I’m picking on her. Now, years later, she’s not afraid to play or get dirty. She’s usually the first person I call when something major happens. Her daughter is my namesake. We can eat Panera, Starbucks, The Hub, Chipotle (that one’s just me), and top it all off with Coldstone–and it’s considered one meal. With her, I laugh until I cry and sometimes I even cry until I laugh. She moved millions of miles away from me, but when we see each other we both cry and pick up where we left off…which is usually someplace completely out there. Like, way far. We pick on each other all day, get p*i*s*e*d, laugh, eat and talk nonsense everytime we get together. Which isn’t nearly enough.

But at least I’m not a little b.

I received this little beauty in the mail from her earlier this week which only proves how well she knows me. I mean, how could I not love an up-cycled piece of jewelry made from bent spoons? I laughed as I read the note that came with it and almost teared up at all the memories that instantly flooded my mind while I held the bracelet in my hand.

Completely perfect. Ugh, I miss her.

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