Anne With An "e"

Dear Anne,

I ran across some old photos from our glory days in a fit of nesting-induced closet cleaning earlier this week. Coincidence that I should run into such memorabilia so close to your special day? I think not! So, in your birthday honor, I give you a hilarious and hopefully tender trip down memory lane...

Remember how much you adored Girls Camp? And how much I dreaded it? And how we sat together in tears (mine 'cause camp couldn't end soon enough and yours 'cause it would be over too quickly) and somehow comforted each other in our opposite afflictions?

Remember when we rang in the new millenium in each other's arms? (Actually, I think Nate was at this particular party and I was probably tongue tied with him at the stroke of midnight...but still. You were there. And we celebrated.) And there certainly was no shortage of times when we clung tightly to each other in the absence of desired male company. (You were my balm of Gilead when Nate's departure hollowed my smitten heart. And I hope I was some kind of helpful something when Chris shattered your dreams of being Mrs. Young. And when things fizzled with "Spanish Class Jared".)

And remember how we used to fill up entire three-mile walks with conversations about our hypothetical futures with these two guys? And now we're living them. And we're (sort of) related!

But we had to sift through some dross along the way. Remember him? (*Shudder*) Showed up an hour late for our homecoming date 'cause he couldn't get the zitt he'd shaved over to stop bleeding. Nice. And did he think he'd redeem himself by referring to the male genitalia with the "d" word TWICE during the course of the evening? So glad I had you to come home to that night, so we could laugh through the horror of it all together.

And remember when we laughed about who was going to pay for dinner when we asked "REI Ty" to bring a friend on our blind date? And remember when he showed up with Danny Davito's doppelganger and you were like, sweet! I love hanging out with bald guys who I could call "midget" and be totally PC. (Wish I had more pictures of you and your ill-fitting suitors.)

And did I really have a crush on Joe Jackson? Really? And didn't you once date a guy whose last name was Pervis? Glad you didn't end up with him. "Mrs. Pervis' Books" just doesn't have quite the same charm that Mrs. Cropper's does.

Maybe there was a reason we attracted houligans...we did step out of the privacy of your home dressed like this. But did we really go to a school dance so horrendously clad? (And what's that big lady's name on the Drew Carey show? (Mimi?) Because I think you duplicated her eye make-up exactly.)

Remember all the cookie dough and Ben and Jerry's and brownies we consumed during college? Ack! Kind of makes my stomach hurt just to think of it.

And remember how domestic and quaint we thought we were for baking cinnamon rolls at my grandma's that one weekend? (And remember that other fateful weekend at my grandma's when we all got tingly bums from the Vick's Vapo-rub she smeared on the toilet seats for April Fool's?)

And remember how you were always so sweet to my little sisters? I think they loved you as much as they loved me. And I loved you even more because you loved them. And remember how we kind of thought this "candid" shot looked like a J.Crew photo? Yeah. Right. (And remember your J.Crew shrine(s)? Those catalogs sure had a knack for lusty chino ads.)

And remember how we redefined "sexy" in Lexington 24? Oh. My.

And speaking of sexy -- remember your sassy zebra cowgirl hat?

And how you sizzled at our Lexy 24 Valentine's Party?

And how we tried to take an eight a.m. weights class together (HA!) And walked around the temple five thousand times together. And cried about boys and our bodies and shingles and homesickness together. And how we shared a cupboard in the kitchen and the Great Harvest Bread inside. And how I ate all the peanut butter and you drank all the milk. And how we mopped our "ox" out of the floody "mire" with our bath towels that dreadful Sabbath -- one of the half dozen (at least) times when our toilet overflowed at Lib Square. And how we wrote pretty faithful letters while you reaped the white harvest in Cleveland Ohio. And how I accidentally stole your wedding song (I swear it was an accident) while you were gone. But you still wrote that sweet tribute that your mom read (in your absence) at our wedding breakfast. And how you and Taylor put your kind and willing shoulders under the burden of Henry's birth and helped us carry it by bringing food and Easter baskets and so much love to the hospital. I cannot think of that time (and your charity) without misting up.

Thanks for you!

Happy Birthday,

Em