Long, long ago when I was a senior in high school I became best friends with a girl named Allie. We first bonded on the field hockey bench over the fact that we were on the bench. Not playing. Our friendship then progressed to weekend adventures and eventually every day adventures. Most of you have heard the stories. Boating in the boat we bought at K-Mart (it was really more of a raft, but it said boat on the box), Park Police helicopters coming after us for swimming in the Potomac River, theme nights where we dressed as punks and divas. All good. All hilarious.
One of my favorite adventures came one night when we decided we wanted to go down a fire pole. Or at least see one. This is where we met Chris. He is our dear friend who showed us the world of fire fighting and invited us in to a place where handlebar mustaches rule. Throughout the years that followed we made frequent visits to the firehouse to see Chris and his friends and a few nights ago we stopped in for another reunion of sorts. As always, we asked him 400 questions about all the cool things we were looking at and laughed at all of our shennanigans from the past. We're still known in the fire fighting realm as the girls who came looking for a fire pole, and for now, I'm alright with being know for that.
Chris loves it when we visit him...
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