her master’s voice: there’s a lot to be said about the sweet smell of friendship.

It’s like a beautiful perfume, standing delicately on a mantelpiece in a bottle of perfectly chiseled glass. It seems too precious to use, but to wear it, is to make a day infinitely better. It has top notes of happiness, middle notes of loyalty and base notes of love. This particular night was all about the girlie friends and our stories, catching up over candlelight. They were the stories of our day and the stories of our year. They were the stories passed down from mothers and grandmothers, as told through the dashes of this and lashings of that in a home-cooked meal. It was the ever-present knowledge that as close friends, we know and understand each other better than most people will.  Better than our hairdresser, last boyfriend, or at times, even our mother. It was glasses of wine, flowers in vases, kisses from babies and burnt fig & caramel ice cream in vintage glassware. Delish.