More thoughts on breakfast in pajama's ~ with Marjorie.

My husband made a sardonic comment about people using their blogs to talk about what they just ate. Something about how that's what Facebook is for. I had to laugh. My post this last Saturday was about breakfast at my friend Marjorie's. We ate the Spanish Eggs I prepared.

It made me think about the post and about how the remarkable thing is gathering the elements of this communal breakfast mid-morning, and walking across the street and a few doors down to cook with my friend in our pajamas.

It, somehow, whispers of college days. Or camping or something other than this gentrified life in the suburbs. It speaks of collusion. Secret fun. Withheld-then-released joyousness.

I thought about it and wondered why it was so darned much fun. So meaningful. Why I've kinda savored it for this last day or so. I think I understand that the cooking business and the pajamaness made it familiar and casual and cozy. Marj and I have known each other for 10 years so, the friendie part is natural. But the conspiratorial part, where we opted to drag brushes through our hair, but that was it, made it the special thing is was.

In all this over-thinking I realized, there was a missing person in the mix. The dad. The husband. The man of the house. This is to say, the cat was away and the mice were cooking. That's where the fragrance of - getting away with a long and lazy day in the company of those who prefer to remain in sleepwear drinking tea and shooing away kids of all ages - emanates. The freedom of a husbandless weekend day.

Note well, my husband of choice is the love of my life for life. My pal and adventure buddy.  I am reminded here,  that God made men and they are handsome and sturdy and great. Great. Fabulous. Wonderful.

But then, there is nothing like a girlfriend, and nothing, nothing like a girlfriend who's a mama working the trenches and open to frivolity on a found Saturday.