Yesterday, I had a lovely brunch with some of my oldest friends. (And, in this context, “oldest” refers to the length of time that we’ve been friends, and NOT to their ages!) Like most people that I know, the hostess suffers from a severe case of the “OMG! What if there’s not enough food?” disease. Fortunately for all of us, she is a most excellent cook!

There were two kinds of quiche: a Greek-ish one, with spinach and feta, which was very good, but was completely blown away by the chorizo one. Brioche French toast with homemade blueberry syrup. Sausage and bacon. Humboldt Fog (my most favoritest cheese in the whole wide world) and robusto on the table. Bacon jam. Smoked salmon (to which I’m allergic, but was much enjoyed by others at the table). Strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries. Pumpkin and regular cream cheese. Cookies and biscotti. And the best darn Bloody Marys east of the Mississippi.

I’ll admit that it’s hard to create a revisionist history for yourself if the same people are still around. (Unless you have more dirt on them than they have on you.) On the other hand, there is great comfort in having people that fully understand your story, and how it informs who you are today. It’s somewhat astonishing to me that I’ve known these people for all of my adult life, and for part of my childhood, even. We know an awful lot about each other, and let me tell you, it ain’t all pretty….and yet somehow, over time, it’s all funny. And 30 years from now, I look forward to sitting around the brunch table with them, laughing about stuff that hasn’t even happened yet.

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