I see two girls, laughing, giggling. They are inseparable.
They wake up groggy in the morning, neither a fan of the sunrise. They watch cartoons while drinking their milk. When forced, they dress for the day, but neither wants to leave the warmth of the house.
The day's activities take place. Tumbling class, haircuts, trips to the bakery for fresh cookies shaped like puppies or bunnies. They eat their lunches, watch more cartoons, and only after being chastised for watching too much TV do they go off to paint, or color, or read a well worn copy of Curious George.
They play tag, duck-duck-goose, and hide and seek. When one is too well hidden the other starts crying because she is scared her best friend in the world is lost. But then she is found. They laugh and start the game all over again.
When Mommy wants to watch the news, the girls go to the computer. One is teaching the other the latest games. At bed time, teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on, and more Curious George books are read. Lights are out at 8:00 pm, but they giggle until well past 9:00, sometimes as late as 10:00.
When they must part, they hug each other and cry. They beg Mommy to let them stay longer. When it is clear they must part, they beg Mommy to let them play together soon. Tears stream down their faces as they wave goodbye until the car is out-of-sight.
They are the best of friends, these two girls. No bond will ever break the love between them, except the cruel bond of time. One is four, the other seventy-two. Angel and Grandma, best friends forever.
