After two days of skiing, it’s easier to name the parts of me that don’t hurt. My fingers. My forearms. My neck.
I’ll give you a clue. In grade one, she taught me how to make really good, firm, round mudballs. Another? In grade 5, she and I surreptitiously looked up the mysterious F-word we’d heard on the playground in my children’s dictionary (no joy). We’ve unwittingly matched our outfits many times in the 28 years we’ve been friends — we shared a love for denim overalls. We’ve been netball team co-founders, pen-pals, joint amateur theatre producers at the tender age of 10. Still no?