My friend Amy is brilliant, well read and eloquent. She is the wife that men wish wasn't taken and the friend that girls aspire to be. The definition of class, Amy knows exactly when to keep mum that she knows more than anyone else in the room (often the case), when to support without limits and when to simply call a spade a spade.
Wife to a proud marine (hoorah!) Amy makes balancing a full time design gig, running her own marketing strategy biz after hours and keeping house look easy. Amy and I met when I moved to Houston for my first 'big girl' marketing position. We commiserated daily over snacks in the break room, causally chatting over hot chocolate about politics, relationship ups and downs, our bosses, dieting, social media progression, you name it. We shared recipes and 'you would not believe what my boyfriend/husband said/did/shouted at the grocery/bookstore/mall' stories as freely as we shared our dreams of wrap around porches and what days of doing 'nothing' might feel like.
Life in your twenties has a way of sweeping you off down the river and away from some of the people you care for most. Since I left my job with Amy a year and a half ago the frequency of our chats has dwindled, but our friendship certainly has not. We're pretty good at keeping up with each other via text, email and Facebook and last week we were even able to squeeze in a friend dinner together.
Amy came over to my house (the first time I'd seen her in person in almost 6 months) and taught me how to make fish tacos with mango salsa, chipotle mayo and Spanish rice- from scratch - in the comfort of my own kitchen. We chatted away a few hours- cooking, eating, drinking wine and talking politics and relationships. It was perfect.
Ever the social media enthusiast, the dust from her jeep hadn't even settled in the drive before I started tweeting our instagramed meal:
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