Last weekend proved to me once again that there is nothing ladylike about the females in my generation of the family. We are loud, cackling, messy, goofy, and infantile. We make an absurd number of poop jokes. We wear men’s XL briefs, rubber gloves and masks, and then send selfies to everyone we think will appreciate our humor, (or at least refrain from calling the police because we potentially look like an ad for an episode of Dexter).*
We drink wine and laugh and sob and laugh again and then eat fudge.
When I’m with these women, I feel home. What I see in them reminds me of the qualities I like best in myself. When I’m with them I picture our three mothers, from whom we inherited our unique traits (love for pranking and costumes included).
I’m in love with these Bruski girls. I can’t wait for next year when we can do it all again.
*My Firewall (i.e. Wise Husband) forbade me from putting any of those selfies in this post, so if you want a peek, you will have to contact me directly.