“There aren’t enough days in eternity for me to not wish for one more day with you, Franny,” Ann wiped the tear away with the back of her wrinkled hand.
Franny sighed, agreed and chuckled. “It’s because we were such terrorists, not that people didn’t deserve it.”
“We were a problem, to both ourselves and others. Oh my god!”
“Do you remember what we did to that silly asshole Portland?”
“Oh god,” Franny choking on her laughter. “Talk about the perfect #Metoo.”
Both women basking in the memory of it, the rueful hilarity that ensued. They were pausing work on the New York Times Crossword. It was a beautiful Colorado fall afternoon. Low grey clouds skittered against the low dun colored mountains.
“Well it was a testament to our friendship, that it didn’t tear us apart.”
“He was never worth all that”
“But still I remember…”
Franny and Ann had been at Pack Expo together in Chicago. Walked their feet bloody in pointy toed Ferragamo stilettos, tiny skirts and beautiful bodies, young blondes, out for blood, both women owned businesses when none did and were bonded closely as a result. The all-male packaging scene of the early seventies was fraught with what would now be termed as sexual harassment and assault, but for those…
