When I moved to Atlanta, whether by coincidence or providence, I landed just a mile down the road from my good friend Katie. As a result, we get to see each other pretty regularly and it’s quite nice. We walk, we watch movies no one else will watch with us (looking at you, BBC Pride & Prejudice), and we dine. It’s lovely.

Last Sunday we agreed to take a walk and enjoy the first weekend of spring weather. I, personally, felt very productive by working in girl-time and exercise together like that. We agreed she would meet me at my apartment, and we would walk to the nearby path from there. While I laced up my shoes, my phone dinged. Would you want to walk somewhere to eat?

I was thrilled she suggested it because I’d been internally mulling that option for the past ten minutes. It was lunchtime. It only made sense.

When Katie pulled up in her car, I walked up to her window before she had the chance to park.

“Maybe we should just drive to lunch, and then walk to the path from there.”
“That’s perfect! The path is right behind the restaurant. Let’s do that.”

So we wheeled into the parking lot of the restaurant, ordered our pizza, and spent the next hour and a half methodically eating slice after slice while catching each other up on the latest details of our lives. Whether or not we polished off an entire pizza between the two of us is of no great importance.

As we sat there, full and content, the topic of pedicures arose. Namely, that we should treat ourselves to some. We discussed and mapped out the distance from the pizzeria to the nail salon, and we seriously considered walking there until I helpfully pointed out that the walk back would be treacherous with our newly painted toes. It was decided: we would drive.

As we sat in our massage chairs, the topic of frozen yogurt came up. It really was a lovely day and perfect for froyo. We talked about the distance from the nail salon to Yoforia. As it was a bit of a trek, we considered driving down the road a bit before walking the rest of the way. I once again helpfully pointed out the state of our freshly painted toes, though, and we concluded it was only wise to drive.

As we drove back home, tasty frozen treats consumed, I asked Katie what she would like to do next. Lunch was consumed, our painted toes had dried, and Yoforia was in our rearview mirror.

“Actually, I could really go for a nap,” she said, and I internally celebrated that I had a friend who suited my temperament so well.
“Good, I’m exhausted,” I agreed. So Katie dropped me off at my apartment before heading to hers, and we each waved goodbye as we wished each other good naps.

As I snuggled into my couch under a blanket, I thought about our afternoon.
As Sunday walks go, it was one of my favorites.

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