It's that happy sad day again, Ingrid. Happy birthday, pal, at 53 but 48. I never wanted to catch up to you, ever, and now here we are and I am older than you will ever be.
Last night at midnight, as I thought about how it had just become your birthday, The Rocky Horror Picture Show came on the TV and you know I had to at least watch the first part of that. You took me to that movie for the first time when we were teenagers, and for a million times after that until we both could quote all the dialogue and knew when to duck as the toast flew and the water pistols came out. It was the gayest, most miraculous thing I'd ever seen up to that point, and it was all because of you. And so I sat on my living room floor at midnight and laughed and cried for you, Ingrid. And missed you so much it felt as though my insides were roiling.
And then I laughed again. You were right there with me in that moment. Thank you for that, Ingrid. I love you.
