In any case, I am happy that we met

I roll up to Pilates on Sunday mornings looking like the 49-yo equivalent of my friend Erin, who, when we were in college, used to haul herself into the car for the drive to our summer waitressing shifts at Chula Vista in the Dells sans makeup with her hair piled insanely on top of her head and her knee-high nylons rolled down to her ankles. i.e., hungover and sleep-deprived and only halfway to wherever she needed to be at 5:00 a.m. She just didn’t care at all what she looked like, which I really respected, both then and now. I hope I’m doing her proud.