Girls of summer

I am on the far end, looking apprehensive. My oldest friend, Dori, is in the middle looking playful and possibly even curious about the boys who were trying, however ill-judged (at least on my part, it seems), to have a conversation with us. For the record, we always have those two expressions on our faces.

By that year, 1997, we had been friends for fifteen years, most of our mortal days. Now, nearly all of our considerably longer lives. I cannot tell you what she has seen me through, and I cannot describe for you how gorgeous she is, even more so now though she would shake her head in the face of that obvious truth.

I can tell you that it is her birthday and I pray everyday she will have millions more, because I do not ever want the friendship you see there to pass into immortality; her presence means the world to me.

Happy birthday, my girl.

There you have a rare glimpse of the Hostess in the days before her own entertaining debut. Sorry, still not ready to unveil my feet .