Ah, the ides of March, the coolest holiday of the year. Methinks I will honor this day by posting about friendship because that would be the ironic thing to do. And I love irony almost as much as I love my ides.

Here I am with two of my dearest friends, Doreen and Nicole. Doreen and I have been friends since 2nd grade. As 2nd graders, we produced the most comprehensive, mind-blowing research project on the little-known Diplodocus, cousin to the infamous Brontosaurus. Nicole and I have been friends since 8th grade when we paired up for a kick-ass flute duet that, as I recall, brought the house down at competition. As you can see, I tend to select as friends people who make me look good. (Geek-genius husband is Exhibit C.)

When Doreen and I met Nicole in 8th grade, we formed an immediate triumvirate. Nicole brought balance to what, at times, had been an unsettled friendship between myself and Doreen (fully caused by my 5th and 7th grade BITCH years, never to be mentioned hereafter). And Doreen and I brought a sense of stability to Nicole, the new girl who moved a lot.

Nicole moved away from Redneck Valley after 9th grade, and Doreen no longer lives here either. But when we get together, it’s like nothing and everything has changed. The friendship hasn’t skipped a beat – we’re the same giggling girls. But now instead of sizing up our breasts, we’re sizing up our ovaries. Now instead of bragging and bitching about boys, we’re bragging and bitching about husbands and live-in boyfriends. Now instead of curious, wide-eyed whispering about The First Time, we’re whispering, curious and wide-eyed, about The Shit That Squeezes Out When One Gives Birth.

There’s more I could say, but I’ll just end with thanks. Thanks for sharing your spirit with me. Thanks for this fabulous friendship. Thanks for making me look good and well, thanks for never stabbing me in the back. You’re both Marc Antonys to me.