When Kacy and I were little, we used to take baths. We would wrap bars of soap and shampoo bottles and other stuff in the tub up in washcloths and put them under the water and in sing song voices say, "A present for...." and then use each others' names. We were so clever and creative. We also had a paint store, a restaurant, played Army, played Indian, built a clubhouse with the intent to sleep in it, but it was a little creepy so we didn't. All of our creativity came from Kacy's head, though. I just followed along. We also played in the ditch, where we apparently acquired parasites that are now making us chubby.
I owe my love for Barry Manilow to Kacy. Also my love for Howard Jones, A-ha, Depeche Mode, and Don Henley. I'm grateful that she let me sleep on her floor all summer and didn't tell me until we were adults that she used to drop boogers on me during the night. I'm grateful that we have matching motorcycle burns.
Today is Kacy's birthday. Happy Birthday, Kacy. I wish we could still play in the ditch together, especially in the summer when it is hot. I'm also glad that flip flops are no longer called "thongs". I'm glad that we were the badminton champions of the neighborhood. I wonder if our Time Capsule is still intact in Lamb's Canyon. We were really cute when we were 13 and shiny. We should go up there and make another one.