Ralph has a closeknit group of friends from Whitman, AKA “The Buddies”. One of the couples has a lovely big vacation home in Gig Harbor, surrounded by pines and overlooking the water. Lars, Pepper, Ike (everyone maintains their college nickname) were all there with their wives (and, in one case, ex-wife; fraternal ties between the phi delts and kappas are stronger than petty disagreements like divorce).
A good time was had by all, walking on the beach and me successfully concealing my bitter regret at having wasted my formative employment years as a graphic artist and San Diego party girl in the 80s. This weekend I’m reminded that I still have to work like an animal while the other wives my age are having nonstop fun on the back end and their rich husbands enjoy the spoils of their earlier toil.
Ripley, a tiny puppy, was passed from lap to lap all weekend and the gang hung out in the DWR for awhile, swapping stories of their bacchanalian college days.