My friend and I have this running joke
it pops up anytime someone asks,
"So, how do you know each other?"
She usually starts with something like,
"Well, she came to my house trick-or-treating the night before her second son was born. We were both big and pregnant with our little guys. And it was warm that night, so we both had pancake feet." She qualifies, "You looked cute in your little jeans and ballet flats; I, on the other hand..."
And rolls into,
"And then when we talked a little more the next summer when we were out for a walk in the neighborhood, she was trying to figure out which house I live in on our street...so I told her..." She reminds, "I wanted to meet you again, so we took walks until you and your boys were outside playing."
And ends with,
"Yeah, then she said, 'Oh, I know where you live. I drove by a few days ago in the afternoon and saw a little girl standing naked on the living room windowsill.'"
She always blushes,
"I was mortified the day you told me that, B. Like, who lets their kids stand in front of the biggest window in the house with no clothes on? I looked like such a bad mom!"
I always laugh, too.
"Who cares? It was so funny! And I thought nothing of it. I mean, little kids are little kids, right?"
One afternoon this week, the winds were just warm enough and the sun was just shiny enough to beckon kids and their parents outside for an after-school playdate. Driving home from school, I slowed down to say, "Hi" as she and her littles spread out from the sidewalk and into the grass.
"B, did you see Clark?!?"
I hadn't. My eyes scanned the greening lawns...
On tiny, little toddler legs, Clark cleared each blade of grass with big-boy underwear draping from his smallish rear-end. Over the top fell an even smaller t-shirt.
I doubled over my steering wheel, laughing.
Evidently, that theory holds true.