Terry should write a book.  Really.  She is so funny, so witty, so intelligent, so colorful, so earthy, so… storyable.  Her friends and she have been throwing around the idea, coming up with some hilarious scenarios –  that are real incidents I might add.  You see, they’ve done a lot of dating between the three of them, imbibed too much a few too many times, and know men.  I will not go into how well they “know” men.  They just know them.  Had some rather interesting encounters, some interesting marriages (or not), and some interesting outcomes to both aforementioned interestings.  So a book written by these gals would become a movie.  A movie everybody would want to see.

I want to see it and I haven’t even read the unwritten book yet!  Just listening to her tell about the combined experiences makes me laugh to my toes, the kind of laughing that makes your face get wrinkles as you age, those wrinkles that were worth it.  She has been my good forever friend.  The one that goes to the doctor with you when you’re nine months pregnant and she’s seven months pregnant and both of you won’t eat until after the weigh-in.  Then look out!  I’m talking baby-belly appetite.  The big and pregnant friends that go camping with what we called husbands at the time, laboring with protruding bellies (and one little four-year-old daughter) to put up a tent, and splashing mud all over those same big bellies as we drove the doorless jeep into town.  We had nice tits though.  A couple of studs were watching us in the lake (we were in up to those nice tits) (bellies in the water) until we decided to go back to shore.  Boy, did we let them down!  Probably literally.

My bosom buddy.  It’s nice to feel bosomy sometimes.