I am awakened from a beautiful dream to a loud ringing. In my efforts to reach the phone, I knock the clock and Chapstick off the bedside table. Cursing, I answer the phone.

"Hello," I say, stuffing as much of my still half-asleep grouchiness into two syllables as possible.

"Hello. What are you doing?" says the familiar voice that never fails to cheer me up.

"Sleeping."

"It's 11 o'clock on a Sunday," she laughs, with that warm caramelly chuckle I've grown accustomed to. "You have a rough night last night or something?"

"You could say that." Sitting up for the first time after a late night is always uncomfortable. First I realize I am under too many blankets, then that I slept in the most bizarre position and have a terrible pain in my neck.

"Oh boy, I'm sure you'll have lots of yummy stories for me. I'll be down at two." She rambles on, telling me about why she can't come earlier, as well as something incredibly stupid her mother said and something hilarious her father said in return. She stops and breathes, asks if I'm listening, then continues on about how horrible her hair looks, adding that she'll see me soon.

There is no need to change clothes for my visitor. The black Doors shirt I wore to bed and the jeans from yesterday will do fine. I do have the courtesy to brush my teeth before she arrives.

At a quarter to two, after I've managed to eat a bowl of cereal and swallow two Tylenol, she appears at my back door. She hugs me as if it's been years since I saw her when it is actually only two days. She smiles at me and greets my mother.

She's wearing an outfit that consists of everyone's clothes but hers: a gray sweatshirt two sizes too big with a green John Deere beanie. I laugh and ask whose clothes she is wearing and she proudly shows me the Waynesboro Boy's Soccer shirt that comes to her midthigh. I ask her how she got it and she tells me the story of her night, complete with voices and re-enactments of the particularly spectacular moments.

Then she asks about my evening and I give her the details of the drama. She reacts with enthusiasm and laughter, and shares my feelings of anger at the girl who ruined my night, throwing in a couple of insults I hadn't thought of. She laughs and tells me that everything will work out, and that I'm gorgeous. And when I protest, she continues and even sings it. This suppresses my bad feelings about the night and we settle into contentment.

We spend the rest of the day fighting over the remote and complaining about each other's taste in TV shows and guys. We wander downstairs a couple of times for food and water, but basically spend Sunday winding down before another hectic week begins - another hectic week that will cause us to need each other's sanity and friendship again.