Yesterday my best friend's mother turned 83 and died. I know that should be a joke, but it's not. T's mom was a hoot; the first time I spent the night at her house we had cake for breakfast. Not T. and me, her mom and me. Bunny, that was her nickname, would dance to the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever -- it was a butt shaking, shoulder boucing dance.

She was a piece of work and she will be missed.