Dear Lindsay B,

Dear Lindsay B,
Today you are 25. Twenty-five years ago today you made your way onto the scene, a little too early and a little too small. (Don't worry about arriving too early, by the way, forget about it. You have more than made up for it by being late to almost everything else between then and now.) Though I was not present, I know that your arrival was marked with joy and fanfare, as we first born are blessed with both.
Lindsay, it would be neat if we had an anniversary. If we did, we could celebrate our friendship with margaritas and an X-files marathon, all while play hand slap games on the porch. I would tell you that there was no Santa Clause, and you would explain sex to me. After, we would ride our bikes around the block to the lighthouse and then climb it. The last one to the top of the lighthouse would have to to forfeit shuffling privileges for the next ten games of speed, while the winner would get the big couch to sleep on that night.
Because 6 year olds are not overly handy about jotting down dates, however, we do not have an anniversary. With this in mind, please allow me to extend my tribute to our friendship on the anniversary of yourself.
Here's to you, Lindsay. I love you.
Your friend (for life!),
Rocker Barbie

P.S. Do you remember a couple years ago when we went Christmas shopping together? That was, seriously, the best time I have ever had shopping. Hands down. End of story. The best.