This is something I'd forgotten until Kelli, Russ and I were sitting on the floor of our kitchen at 1 am, talking about her boobs.
The ones she didn't have in high school. The ones she paid good money for. The ones I asked to feel at the last reunion - thus causing a number of guy friends to make the same request, although mine was clinical curiosity.
But then I had to feel those of another friend - at the time more of an acquaintance, really - just to be polite.
This story is actually about the other friend, who is older than us and left Delhi before either of us arrived. But who I'd met in childhood, as she's the daughter of friends of my parents. I'll call her Adrienne.
So I felt Adrienne's new boobs at the last reunion and then we didn't keep in touch, since we didn't actually know each other and were in very different places in life.
Four years went by, and as you know, last summer my dad passed away.
As happens, there was a continuous stream of old friends coming over to my parents' house bearing food, flowers, condolences. They came, sat with us, had drinks, swapped Mike stories, mourned.
Among the first were Adrienne's parents. Who hadn't seen me since I was in junior high, at the oldest.
And here I was, grown up and married and all pregnant!
So I said hello, and asked how they were, and inquired as to Adrienne's well-being.
At which point Betty turned and said, "Lisa felt Adrienne's boobs at the Delhi reunion!"
I felt like one of those squirrels frozen in panic, unsure what to do with the approaching car.
Her father looked at me. I looked at him. Her mother looked at me. I looked at her. I tried to smile. But then I thought smiling might make me seem creepy. So I stopped.
There was this terrible pause. It went on and on.
Finally I said, "Well. This is awkward. Would you like some cheese?"
And that's all we said about that.