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by Amy Sullivan @ (in)courage May 26, 2015
Growing up . . .
I played with Kristen from the moment my mother allowed me to sprint out our front screen door until the time I dragged my sweaty, sandy self home. Kristen and I filled our days gathering flowers and holding parades — in which we were the only people in attendance.
When I was twelve . . .
Sarah and I walked her block and talked of boys. We spent hours circling her neighborhood aching for that illusive thing called freedom. We weren’t sure what freedom was, but we were certain it included heavy, blue eye shadow.
In high school . . .
Amy and I drove around in my beat-up Chevy Cavalier and listened to Matthew Sweet. Gas was cheap and time was abundant. In-between songs, we talked of life after high school and tennis and the beach.
In college . . .
Susan and I grabbed a gaggle of girls, individually curled each strand of our hair, proceeded to coat our curls with White Rain hairspray, and then started our nights at 10:00 pm — all while dancing to “Jive Talking.”
In marriage . . .
My husband and I discovered we shared a wall with another newlywed couple, and our relationship with them was very Friends-like (Think of it as if Rachel and Joey got married, and they lived next door to Chandler and Monica). We saw each other before work and after work, and we always, always discussed...
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