![](https://www.elinornauen.com/rails/active_storage/representations/redirect/eyJfcmFpbHMiOnsibWVzc2FnZSI6IkJBaHBBNWh2QVE9PSIsImV4cCI6bnVsbCwicHVyIjoiYmxvYl9pZCJ9fQ==--3d3c683c72acecca36cef2051fb7aac54a8bd029/eyJfcmFpbHMiOnsibWVzc2FnZSI6IkJBaDdCem9MWm05eWJXRjBTU0lJYW5CbkJqb0dSVlE2RkhKbGMybDZaVjkwYjE5c2FXMXBkRnNIYVFMZ0FXa0M0QUU9IiwiZXhwIjpudWxsLCJwdXIiOiJ2YXJpYXRpb24ifX0=--d00c0b801be2eac628730b2b4ffb891cbdd69dfe/THIS.jpg)
Great meal, gross dessert.
Bessie & I only once have managed to take a photo of ourselves—we invariably are deep in conversation that excludes documentation. Even yesterday, when we and our husbands had lunch, I took photos of Tom & Johnny but none of Bessie & me. I love to see them laughing together, our two handsome men. They have boxing in common and— "What else did you guys talk about?" I just asked. Predictably his answer (in his irritated, why-are-you-even-asking voice) was: I don't know. That's male friendship, isn't it?