For some reason, a certain bumper sticker picture reminded me of this, and since then I've been reminded of the art of words around us, everywhere.
Last night I had the freeing opportunity to go out on a "date" with one of my best friends, sans hubbies and munchkins. We went out to dinner, and between lots of great food and mediocre service, we talked and talked and turned red with laughter. We covered everything from "Wicked" fanfiction to old college professors to the profound things four-year-olds can say to booty shorts to the logistics of sex. We talked about the novels she's going to write and the shoes I'm going to design and one of Oz's alter dimensions (the red one), Az. At one point I was having such a hard time catching my breath that I was afraid cannoli would come out my nose. Really. (Maybe that explains the less than stellar service: maybe our server was afraid of us.)
After I drove her back home to a sleeping household, we sat in the car in the driveway and talked for another hour and a half. We talked politics and religion and some more about our kids. We talked about the couple who had been getting it on in broad daylight in a car the pool parking lot. And we talked more about those shoes. It was as good as -- or maybe even better than -- being back in college, doing art projects, talking, and eating ramen at 2 AM.
Every woman should have a good date with her best girlfriend every month or so... just to keep her in check, her creative juices flowing, and her heart light. Even at the risk of clogging her nose with cannoli.