felice“Deb, You want to do a home to home?”
“Love to.”
“Really, seriously?”
My feet start twitching and I am out of my chair — “Yes!!!”
I am suddenly 12 years old again, and a little giddy with the idea. That beastly Covid has ruined our annual sleepovers for too long.
Like a rebellious pre-teen, we feel courageous and agree to a date.
I had been at her place last time, so we were going to start this round at my place. It was my turn now.
I wanted to get her something special to commemorate the sleepover re-launch. My British friend had told me about these amazing PJ’s and so I went on-line to check them out. They were fabulous looking and frankly looked a little British.
I ordered matching “Night Rose” leopard jammies for both of us … These pajamas could never be mistaken as anything put PJs. They were not yoga pants and not sweats that can escape the driveway and head to the coffee shop. These were stay at home Jammies; a look that never leaves the house, but that’s what made them irresistible.
“What should we have for dinner?” She asks, thinking about the meal plan ahead for our adventure.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.”
Deb has been cooking for her extended family who was around during the pandemic and I know she is relieved not to have to plan another meal but has been conditioned to think about meal planning.
I play along and engage her in menu options which I know will go absolutely nowhere. Our food discussions remind me of listening to the specials list read off by the waiter at Lusardis, my favorite restaurant, knowing full well that I will eat nothing of what he is describing and will order the same chicken paillard, as always, for the past 25 years.
“Hmmm, I say, How about a salad with some grilled chicken, red wine and chocolate?”
We both laugh knowing there was never a question this would be the meal.
“Will your hubby be around?” She asks. I know she adores him but frankly, a girl sleep over is the ideal. He’s actually leaving the island for a few days.
“Oh, ok.” I know, she knows. Timing is perfect.
We text back and forth prepping for the visit.
“It’s going to rain, are you going to cancel if it rains?”
We had planned to play golf the next day.
“Nope, I’m not gonna cancel.” We are fully committed.
The day arrives and I’m excited as I head out to the ferry. I frankly can’t believe we cleared our calendars and made time for us and I feel all the love that comes with a friendship that makes us each the most important person in the room. It’s hard to believe with the kids grown and our busy work days of the past behind us and a life of less than full time commitments, it should be so hard to carve out time. But it is. And I’m grateful when we can make this happen.
It’s a cloudy eve and I watch the boat pull into the dock and then there she is. Deb steps off with her little overnight bag, drops it immediately and we hug. It’s only a 25 minute ride from her mainland to my island but if feels like a journey nonetheless. We are both giddy and excited but then I see that look.
“What?”
“Nothing, all is good, I’m just wiped, but don’t worry I won’t go to sleep early.”
I can see Deb is exhausted. She was working on an event for 100 golfers that day..
“It’s ok, don’t worry, I’ve got the perfect remedy.”
“She giggles….what …what?”
We are barely inside the front door, and true to my impatient 12 year old inner child, I hand her an elegant pink box and demand she open it immediately.
As she peels back the tissue paper, I know she’s thinking I’ve gotten her a new golf shirt or something golfy.
“OMG, OMG, what is this? Matching tops and bottoms – omg! PJ’s? Oh, Fleecey, I love them – I love them. And even though it’s only 6 pm she runs to the other room to put them on.
When she comes into the kitchen I am waiting in my matching PJs with a glass of pinot and we double over laughing. The sleep over is back!