This past Sunday, I celebrated the end of my birthday week. My friend Trisala cooked a home-made dinner for me, in her apartment in Tribeca. And then let me stay with her for three nights (I am here until tomorrow Wednesday) during my New York City business trip. You may know this about me: I have a love-hate relationship with NYC. I love it in terms of productive work – days here are packed with meetings with beauty editors, beauty buyers, branding experts. A 12 hour day in NYC also feels like a 20 hour day in DC; this city drains me. The speed of everything, the sensorial overload, the people, the driving (in a cab or otherwise)… Yet after a long day I come “home” to Trisala’s and I feel, well, a bit at home. Actually, so much so that I want to have her home-cooked meals every night. She laughs and says I am her only out of town friend who doesn’t want to go out to the newest, greatest, bestest restaurant in The City for dinner. Go figure. Of course, she has Swiss gruyere and Swiss “mayonnaise” in her fridge at all times. And a pile of French literature and philosophy books on her kitchen counter, some of which she lets me borrow. And the best playlist on her Ipod. And an apartment without a TV. And fabulous bath oils in her bathroom (an inspiration should we at Alchimie ever decide to make bath oils).

On Sunday night, we reminisced about when we met – middle school. Scary. I just turned 34, she is turning 35 in a couple of weeks, which means we have known each other for 20 years. Our friendship has survived the test of time, and of absence. She is the kind of friend I can see after 3 years of absence and feel like the last time I saw her was just a couple of days ago. Actually, when I come to think of it, I think of her every day; at least every day that I am in my house in Georgetown. She has given me three of the things I use most often in my life. My wine opener – the best one in the world. My pillows – the most comfortable ones in the world. And my cashmere blanket – a pure luxury that I live with from October through March.

There is nothing like a friend like her to make me feel at home even when I am in the Big Apple. Merci Trisala. And on that note, thank you to all of my dearest girlfriends. You know who you are.

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