Edward and I used to take root beer seriously.
Very seriously.
In much the same way that Corey and I used to take everything with which we endeavored into very seriously, so was Edward and I's gusto and forthrightness towards the beer of roots.

Reflection on this subject made me miss the kind of girlfriendless camraderie he and I used to share.
This is not to say that I wish to be emancipated from the bonds of serious-relationship-hood and flung back to those days long past.
Far from it.
It is only to say that the days when he and I could seriously consider a trip to Nashville or a trip cross-country with equal vigor and plausability are missed.

I don't know if you know this about me, but I enjoy driving. Not your everyday to work, ho-hum, back home kind of driving. Not your, "Why don't we go to the mall?" driving.
No, I'm enamored of real driving. Interstates. Nothing but blacktop in front of you, and the yellow lines behind you. Nothing on either side of for as far as the eye can see.
Road signs and rest stops and tourist traps.
That kind of driving.
I miss the idea of he and I being able to do that some day.