When I grow older, I want my friends to come with me.
I want us to sit on porches sipping tea and watching the young walk by.
I want us to scoot around on our scooters or on golf carts because none of us want to walk back home from the beach.
I want us to sit in restaurants and order whatever we want because life has become too short and we know it, so cheesecake it is.
I want morning strolls together to get the willies out, and afternoon poolside chatter with margaritas in hand.
I want loud laughter so much so, that we get looks everywhere we go.
I want us to go shopping together and try on clothes that don’t fit and complain that everything is made for a generation we don’t belong to anymore.
I want us to take trips together and maybe even sport matching swimsuits just for fun.
I want us to continue calling each other for no reason, just to see what we’re doing and what we’re making for dinner.
I want us to argue about what’s on the news and how expensive everything has gotten even if we can’t hear each other clearly.
I want us to borrow each other’s glasses at the grocery store because the prices are written so small!
I want us to complain together and vent or grieve, and then pick each other up, again and again.
I want us to compare our bellies—the same ones that housed kids and then became pillows for us to rest our arms on when we cross them sitting down.
I want us to renew our promise to each other, to keep trading beauty secrets, to keep giving advice, to keep listening without judgment.
I want my friends to know that as we get older, there is no other place I would rather be than in the company of those who have been with me in the hardest and most joyous times.
Yes, I want my friends to join me in my golden years.
The ones who never gave up on our friendship even when time and life got in the way.
If you have friends who you want to grow old with, consider yourself lucky.
Lucky to know them and lucky to want to carry them around for the rest of your life.