I was recently reminded of my first best friend. And in remembering her, I've been caught up in the details of our 'break-up.' We had a naive relationship, her and I, convinced that together we'd take everything life had to throw at us.
But life threw a great shot and broke us apart. My mom got sick, and died, and neither of us could take it. And our perfect friendship failed us both. Now, I kind of want to cry because she's only met my daughter once - in a restaurant we both happened to visit - when she was about a year old. Last year, even a few months ago, I thought 'Oh, well' - in total denial that a part of me still aches for that little piece of friendship heaven we had.
So that's a little bit about "Blonde Woman, Two Rows Front."
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