I texted a friend yesterday and said we must get together this week -- it has been too long!
The only time slot we had in common was yesterday evening. So even though I've still got a full docket of writing, sunset found me at a table for two on the patio, watching the almost-full moon rise in the distance.
What I didn't know when I invited my friend is that she has been having trouble with her boyfriend again this week after a long period of calm. We really haven't had much time to catch up lately since we both work so much.
As she filled me in on all the latest twists and turns, at one point, she went back to one of her fears.
"You know I'm getting older," she said. "I just don't want to wind up alone, without anybody. After all, my birthday's coming fast and I'm about to hit my 47th year."
"Actually," I said, "it's 48th."
"You're turning 47, right? That makes THIS your 47th year. Your next birthday starts your 48th. You know, just to be accurate..." My voice trailed off as I realized perhaps this wasn't the most helpful observation on my part.
But she had already buried her face in her hands. "Oh, great," she said. "48th, then. I am starting my 48th year..."
We burst into delighted peals of the bitter, black laughter of aging female friends.