Zoe & Sophia Dance Half-Naked for an Interstate Webcam Audience and Contemplate Moving to Florida as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being

February 24th, 2010

February 24
PLEASE send your advice to two single women, whose lives are suddenly crashing in chaos! Zoe and Sophia, BFFs for thirty years, find themselves unexpectedly cast into the world of re-creation and redefinition after decades of being faithful wives to George and Marty. They need advice from anyone willing to offer it. For instance, what advice would you give your BFF were she to ask, “IF YOU MOVE AWAY, WHAT WILL I DO?” Any advice you can give to Zoe would be helpful, but this is what Sophia said.

Late one afternoon Sophia sat at the dining room table in her large 1770s home on a lake in New Hampshire. She leaned into her laptop, working on the manuscript of a mystery that was in the last stages of editing before she could send it out to publishers and agents. In the eleven months since she was laid off as a reporter, from a newspaper where she worked for twenty years, she wrote two books and was well on her way to a third. Unfortunately, her ability to work effectively was interrupted five months before when her husband Marty left her for his girlfriend, Fugly, as Sophia called her. Writing kept Sophia from living on Planet Nuts permanently because when she wrote, she was able to manage the grief. But the minute she stopped, even for a few hours, she crashed. And it didn’t help that she was beginning to feel discouraged about selling her work. So far, she had received only rejections except by one literary agent who, at least, agreed to read her first completed manuscript.

Agents and publishers were not Sophia’s problem that afternoon though. It was her huge Maine Coon cat Tolstoy who wanted attention. He sat on the table next to her, giving her the evil eye because he thought he was hungry. Tolstoy had an eating disorder. He captured and ate all small living creatures, from mice to crickets to birds, and devoured everything else even remotely edible in the house. Sophia wasn’t the only one suffering from her marital split. Tolstoy started his compulsive eating shortly after Marty left and took the dogs with him. Marty still refused to let the border collies, Voltaire and Dickens, visit with Sophia and Tolstoy. Voltaire and Dickens raised Tolstoy from the time he was a poor abandoned kitten, whose mother was unable to nurse him. Sophia fed Tolstoy with an eye dropper back then, just to keep him alive, but it was the dogs who were his big brothers, and Tolstoy missed them something wicked.

Tolstoy butted his head against Sophia’s arm a couple of times, thinking Sophia was being awfully insensitive to his needs. He figured he’d show her a thing or two and leapt on to her keyboard, deleting an entire paragraph.
“Dammit, Tolstoy,” groaned Sophia. Tolstoy was so heavy that Sophia had to stand up to leverage his weight off of the laptop. Just then, a brisk wind blasted into the dining room, followed by the clatter of Zoe and Sparky, her incontinent, stroke-impaired yellow Lab. The two ran inside away from the icy air and blankets of falling snow. Sophia held Tolstoy in her arms, but he was so heavy that her feet were planted to the floor. So, she couldn’t get out of the way when Sparky ran sideways toward her, catching her behind the knees. Tolstoy sprang from Sophia’s arms, but not in time for Sophia to catch her fall.

As Sophia lay pinned on the floor, Sparky and Tolstoy vied for supremacy on her stomach, fighting with each other, like two spoiled children.
“Hey, Zo” Sophia said from the floor. “Could you get these animals off of me so I can stand up?”
“Hey, Sophie, what’s up?” said Zoe, ignoring Sophia. Zoe set up her laptop across from Sophia’s on the dining room table. It was only when the cacophony of growling and hissing became blaringly loud that Zoe even looked up.
“ZOE,” yelled Sophia.
“Fuck sake, Sophie, get off the damn floor.”
Sophia just glared at Zoe until she got the message and shooed away the animals.

“My furnace is on the blink,” said Zoe, “The repair guy said he can’t fix it until tomorrow. So, I came over here to stay warm. Sophie, why aren’t you dressed?”
“I’ve been working. Why do I need to dress? I’m the only one here, and I’m not going out.”
“When’s the last time you showered and did get dressed?”
“I can’t remember, a couple days probably.”
“Fuck sake, Sophie. You’re like a bag lady without the bags and living in a beautiful home. What’s wrong with you?”

“The usual. If I stop writing, my sanity leaves me. I start to think about Marty and Fugly and my dogs and that I’m flat broke. Then I see myself living on the streets, carrying Tolstoy around in a cat crate, trying to find something to eat, until Tolstoy gets so hungry that he decides to eat me. Then I can’t think anymore, and I just start crying until I remember to meditate and live in the present moment. But the moment seems so bleak, that I don’t wanna live in it. Then I picture Marty and Fugly laughing and having sex and living high on the hog, with my dogs. And then….”

“ENOUGH,” shouted Zoe. “You’re obsessing again, and frankly, you look and smell like someone rehearsing to be a bag lady. Fuck sake, go take a shower and get dressed.”
“I’ll let you dance for Jackson in Florida on the Webcam,” Zoe bribed.
“Why do I need to shower and dress for that?”
“He can see you on the Webcam. Take a look in the mirror, Sophie; you’re scarier than a Stephen King novel.”

Just then Tolstoy jumped up on the table again and hissed. He wanted that bitch Zoe to quit badgering Sophia and take Sparky home. Tolstoy liked Sophia’s odor. Sparky threw Tolstoy a smug look and started to slink toward the summer kitchen where the cat bowl and kitty litter lived. Tolstoy was smart and knew Sparky’s game. Tolstoy yowled at Sparky, sensing Sparky was getting ready to steal the tiny bit of food in the cat dish, just before he pranced sideways over to the kitty litter to tuck into a “desert” of cat crap. Tolstoy wondered what he’d ever done to deserve losing his big brothers and be left with Sparky as a “pal.”

Sophia followed Tolstoy’s angry gaze, and just as Sparky’s nose pushed open the swinging door to the summer kitchen, Sophia cried, “No, Sparky. Go lie down.”
Sophia’s sharp tone scared Sparky, and he involuntarily plopped out a couple of “presents” before he walked slowly back into the dining room and curled up by the fire. He wondered why Zoe needed to have such a bitch for a BFF.

“You got any food, Sophie?”
“Not much. Hey, Zoe, could you go clean up Sparky’s mess out there. It stinks.”
“Only if you go take a shower.”
“You win,” Sophia said and walked to the bathroom.

As the blades of hot water streamed over Sophia’s naked body, a sense of peace began to envelop her, but then harsh thoughts intruded on her Zen. She pushed out the anger and pain that always stabbed her when she thought about Marty’s lies and their bitter arguments leading up to the split. But these thoughts were promptly replaced by memories of years of showers she and Marty took in that bathroom. Then all her mind’s eye could picture was Marty showering with Fugly. Of course, she found some comfort in that picture because Fugly looked like a troll and had deformed thighs with purple pimples on them, and those gross thighs were attached to a fat ass. But Fugly was younger than Sophia and much richer, so she assumed Marty’s love had become blind.

As she rinsed out the shampoo, Sophia reminded herself that she couldn’t have prevented what happened because nothing mattered to Marty or Fugly. Marty walked out of a loving, devoted decades-long marriage, even though he now refused to remember it that way. He preferred to demonize Sophia. Fugly walked out of her marriage to a famous musician, who was the son of an international icon, Famous Father. She left three young children there too.

The affair evolved within the framework of a business project Marty and Fugly concocted, which was being financed by Famous Father, and Fugly told Marty that the millions Famous Father was handing over didn’t need to be paid back because Fugly was Famous Father’s “special daughter-in-law.” Marty had gone all-in with the project, generating very little income, with the expectation that the new project was worth the risk.

During those months Marty and Sophia ran through their savings. And just as Marty was about to start getting paid, Famous Father learned of the affair and pulled out his money. So, apart from losing her husband and her dogs, Sophia lost all her savings and was about to lose her home. It occurred to her that Fugly was like a vacuum cleaner that had sucked up Sophia’s life. But sadly, in sucking up Sophia’s life, Fugly had discarded her own, and her relationship with her children would never be free of the pain of Fugly’s selfish choices. The kids saw their mother on a visitation schedule, but it wasn’t the same as having their mother with them all the time. Sophia felt truly sorry for those three young kids.

Zoe heard the sobs coming from the bathroom and ran in to check, thinking Sophia must have fallen down.
“Are you okay?” Zoe called as steam billowed around her.
“THIS is why I don’t take showers all the time. When I’m in the shower, I think. When I think, I lose my mind,” yelled Sophia.
“You need a dose of Pema, Sophie. Get out of the shower and meditate.” Zoe was referring to Pema Chodron, the American Buddhist writer to whom Zoe and Sophia were devoted.
“Okay, Zo. I’ll read Pema to get me to stop “thinking.”
“Good, because I’ve got Jackson live, and since we’ve been on the outs for awhile, I really need to talk to him. I love that guy.”

Zoe had spent a couple of weeks tossing and turning over her relationship with Jackson.  When she left Florida after visiting him a month before, she was walking on clouds after spending a loving, thrilling time with him, notwithstanding Sophia’s presence. Sophia was her BFF, but she tended to oddness, especially now while she was consumed with grief. Jackson was gracious and accepting of both women and a marvelous host. But soon after Zoe and Sophia left, he started distancing Zoe, and if there was one thing Zoe caved in to, it was feeling abandoned. Like a broken record, it always circled back to when she was eight years old, when her father died, abandoning her in the most fundamental way.

When Jackson started pulling away, Zoe became a little obsessive in trying to reconnect with him. Then she figured out that he had the same types of issues she did. He didn’t want to be hurt either. So, it was easier to distance Zoe and not risk what could happen if Zoe didn’t love him back the way he needed to be loved. Once Zoe figured this out, she worked very hard to reassure Jackson that she was worth the risk.
Through it all, Sophia maintained a good relationship with Jackson, and as a result, an idea began to percolate in Sophia’s head. All the pieces fell into place a few nights before, when Zoe suggested that a strategy to detach from Marty would be for Sophia to move far away. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Zoe about her idea yet.

As Sophia stepped out of the shower, she said, “Zoe, I need to talk to you about an email I wrote.”
“Can it wait? I need to get back to the Webcam.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll tell you when you’re free.”

Zoe ran back into the dining room while Sophia dried herself. But to Zoe’s dismay, Jackson had signed off of his Webcam, so she walked back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet to talk to Sophia.
“What was the email, Sophie?”
Sophia was upside down lathering her feet and legs with olive oil lotion. As she drew on her panties she said, “I wrote to Jackson yesterday.”
“Why?” asked Zoe, her eyes widening in surprise.
“You remember when he pointed out some of the rental properties he owned?” Sophia asked as she slipped on her bra and started applying lotion to her arms, stomach and back.
Sophia opened three jars of facial moisturizer and started rubbing them on her face, neck and chest. “Do you remember the sweet house with the lovely yard he showed us, the one right around the corner from his house?”
“In the email I asked Jackson whether the house might be available to rent soon,” said Sophia as she rubbed together hemp conditioner and a straitening gel in her palms then ran her hands through her wet hair.
“Why, Sophie?
“Because, I think I want to move to Florida. And the house will be available soon.”

With this, Sophia closed her eyes, turned upside down again and began drying her hair. The roar of the dryer drowned out Zoe’s words. All of a sudden the dryer stopped. Sophia looked at it, confused, until she saw Zoe standing next to her holding the plug that she’d pulled from the socket.

“Zoe, I’m dying here.”
“Can’t you just get a prescription for anti-depressants?”
“It’s not that simple. I see no light here.”
“It’s wintertime. You’ll see light in the spring.”
“That’s not the light I mean. All I see is blackness every day. I count the hours until night time, wishing away my life. But all night long, I awake, and I’m haunted by the past, by Marty, by tiny moments, a sentence here, and a gesture there. I’m dying in this place, Zoe, and that’s no way to live.”

“How will you afford to live down in Florida?”
“The rent on that house is a quarter of the mortgage on this one. Financially, I can’t afford to live here anymore. And emotionally, I’ll perish if I do. The first sense of ease I’ve felt in months began when you suggested the other night, that to detach from Marty, maybe I needed to move far away.”
“I said that?”
“Yes, Zoe. When we were in Vermont.”
“I say stupid shit sometimes,” said Zoe, then her face began to pucker.
Sophia walked over to Zoe and rubbed her head. “Don’t cry, Zo, you can come visit me.”

The infirm of purpose in Sophia’s voice rocked Zoe to her core. She stood up, blinded by tears, and strode quickly from the bathroom. Unfortunately, she didn’t see Sparky lying in the doorway to the dining room. Nor did she realize Sparky had delivered a couple of loose ones in her path. Zoe stepped in the pile, slid a couple of feet, tried to right herself, but her unsullied foot found Sparky’s hindquarters and she lost her balance. On her way down she saw only the terrified eyes of Tolstoy, frozen in fear. Tolstoy was quick though and narrowly escaped being crushed. Zoe lay in a heap weeping. She wasn’t hurt, but inside, she was afraid.

“Fuck sake, Zoe. Get up.”
“Zoe, you got dog crap all over your foot and my floor. Go take a shower.”
Tolstoy sat nearby hyperventilating from his near escape, thinking Zoe might be more dangerous than he suspected. Sparky limped over to Zoe and licked her face, thinking that bitch Sophia must have done something really awful to make Zoe cry so hard. Tolstoy watched with contempt, thinking Sparky was a suck up.

Sophia bent over and pulled on Zoe, coaxing her to stand up. Finally, Zoe stood and walked like a zombie to the bathroom to take a shower. Sophia cleaned up the crap on the floor then went in search of Pema’s book When Things Fall Apart.

She started to read about Maitri, which is developing loving kindness and absolute friendship with ourselves. The process is one of letting go and realizing that everything is always falling apart and that we have no control. There is no real beginning or end to anything. The human experience has been the same since the beginning of humanity. All thoughts, feelings, memories and moods simply come and go continually, and that the only thing we can hold on to is the present moment. Life is like sitting backwards on the bed of a hay wagon. We watch the moments fall away, never to be reclaimed. And since we’re sitting backwards, we can’t see what is ahead of us. All we have is what is right now. If we try to live in this moment, we can let go of the fear of what we neither know nor can control. A way to do this is to let go of the hope that things will be different than we fear they might or might not be. Things are what they are.

Sophie often practiced Pema’s idea called labeling, by using the word “thinking.” During meditation, whenever a thought or feeling arose, good or bad, Pema taught to dismiss gently what comes into our minds by saying silently the word “thinking,” allowing ourselves to return to the open space of the present moment. Sophia used this approach during meditation and was fairly successful, but she was rarely successful during the rest of her hours when she wasn’t meditating. Thinking often crippled her.

Just then, it occurred to her that Zoe had been gone a long time.
“ZOE,” she yelled.
“I’M UPSTAIRS,” Zoe yelled back.

Sophia looked confused. She didn’t know about any date. Before going upstairs to find Zoe, she decided to check her Facebook. Jackson was chatting live, so she clicked in and sent him an instant message. He wrote back, and before long, Sophia and Jackson were engaged in a lively repartee about if and when and how Sophia would move to Florida. He told her the details didn’t really matter because he “had her back.” Sofia’s heart softened. She was unaccustomed to men, even other people’s men, having her back unless they were family. Sophia started to enjoy the chat. While she waited for his responses, she put on some music and poured herself a glass of white wine. She was toasty warm in front of the blazing fire even though she wore only her panties and bra. She could be half-naked because she didn’t have a Webcam, so Jackson couldn’t see her. Pretty soon she was up grooving spastically to George Benson playing On Broadway. Periodically she’d do a leap over to her laptop and type a pithy response into the chat box.

Zoe suddenly burst into the room flickering on a hyper high. Sophia looked at her and stopped dancing. There stood Zoe, dressed in a string bikini she found in a swim suit drawer Sophia hadn’t opened in twenty years. Zoe’s head donned a big straw hat, and her eyes were covered by sunglasses. Her cheeks were blotched with pink circles of blush, and she towered over Sophia in four inch spiked heels, which were the same vintage as Sophia’s bikini. Snot dripped down Zoe’s chin.

“PAR-TAY…PAR-TAY,” sang Zoe, drowning out the words about “Broadway.” Zoe switched out to an old chestnut as she bellowed, “LET’S GET DOWN TONIGHT.” Then she wobbled over to her laptop, turned on her Webcam, and Jackson’s face jumped up. Zoe flung off her sunglasses and yelled a wild-eyed “HELLO” to the man, before she half-ran and half-fell into the kitchen to pour herself another glass of wine.

Sophia raced over to the Webcam and told Jackson that she was afraid Zoe might be coming unhinged. He nodded in agreement. Sophia decided not to interject herself into Zoe’s momentary madness. She was pretty sure her announcement about moving had pushed Zoe over the edge. Just as Sophia was practicing to be a bag lady, Zoe was practicing how to bring Florida to New Hampshire.
Zoe tottered back into the dining room with her glass of wine. She sat down in a rocking chair, shivering. She looked up a Sophia with a child-like, helpless expression in her eyes.

“I feel cold all over, Sophie.”
Sophia looked at the fireplace and realized the fire was nearly out.
“Let me get the fire going again, Zo.”
“A fire won’t warm me up,” said Zoe. She then put her head in hands, as much as the straw hat would permit, and stared at the floor listlessly. “I’m cold because I feel lost.”

“Well, a fire won’t hurt,” said Sophia as she walked into the summer kitchen , tore up paper, and grabbed a bundle of kindling. While she stuffed the paper into the low embers, Zoe came up for air. She studied the ignited paper.
“What are you burning, Sophie? That’s not newspaper.”
“I’m too broke to buy a newspaper, so I’m burning the architectural plans to Marty’s “Project” that never will be.”
“That’s weirdly ironic, isn’t it? If Fugly had never come along and suggested the project, you’d still be married.”
“That’s not what Marty says. He now tells me I was a horrible wife for a long time.”
“Do you buy that?”
“Not really. But when I’m feeling low, I give him the power to hurt me and to question my value as a human being. Do other people who get dumped feel like failures?”
“Probably,” said Zoe, wiping tears from her mascara-smeared face.
“Each time I burn another big, white sheet of this paper, covered with architectural plans of his nonexistent “dream” athletic center, I feel as if I’m burning the past and present, and we certainly have no future, so that goes up in flames too.”
“Where’d you get the paper?”
“Marty left the plans on the floor of our bedroom when he moved his stuff out, so I guess he didn’t want to be reminded either. Hey, Zo, is it too late to line up some dinner dates? I think you need cheering up?”

The mention of dinner dates triggered a shift back to lunacy for Zoe, and she screamed, “IS JACKSON STILL ON LINE?”
“I believe he is,” said Sophia as she threw a log on the fire.
“Fuck sake, Sophie, why didn’t you tell me?”
“If he loves you, Zoe, he’ll love you just as you are, deranged and all.”

Zoe staggered over to her Webcam. Jackson waved to her and smiled. Just then Mary J. Blige’s song You Can’t Keep a Good Woman Down began to play. Zoe threw her straw hat in the air and began shouting the words at Jackson and dancing wildly for him. Sophia joined in the fun. She forgot to be self-conscious in her panties and bra. Jackson thought both women were swinging from Bonkersville, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to log off. Instead, he turned down the sound on his Webcam and sat back, enjoying the view of their half-naked bodies gyrating with abandon.

When the song ended, Zoe collapsed in tears on the floor. And only then did Jackson sign off.
“What’s gotten into you, Zo,” asked Sophia.
“When I was upstairs, I started thinking about what life would be like for me if you moved away.”
“Why are you raking over the future?”
“What do mean?”
“Why are you thinking about something that hasn’t happened yet?”
“Because I’m scared you will abandoned me.”
“I’m not one of your men, Zoe. I’ve loved you for thirty years. I’m not going anywhere in my heart.”

Just then, an incoming email blinged on Sophia’s laptop. She decided to put on a bathrobe before sitting down to check it. Zoe’s misery was making Sophia cold too. Suddenly, she felt torn about her decision to move to Florida. In the bathroom she put on one bathrobe and grabbed a second one for Zoe, which she lovingly wrapped around Zoe’s shoulders before sitting down to check the email.

Sophia’s eyes widened when she saw the name of the sender. Her fingers began to tremble so hard that she had trouble clicking the mouse just to open the email. Finally, she began to read the message. Involuntary tears leapt from Sophia’s eyes. Inside a joy washed over her that was so foreign, she almost needed a translator to understand it. Sophia turned around and looked at Zoe. Zoe saw something in Sophia’s eyes she had not seen in a long, long time.

“What?” asked Zoe.
“I have a literary agent. Thank God. He loves my manuscript. The contract is attached to the email.”
Zoe leapt up and encircled Sophia in her arms.
“Tell me what this means, Sophie,” she said smiling into Sophia’s eyes.
“It means he’s taken me on as a client. It means my chance of a publisher buying my book just increased by about ninety-eight percent.”
“It’s your time, Sophie. I just know it is. What did he say?”
“He said he had just finished reading my ‘wonderful story’ and it was ‘beautifully and sorrowfully and excitingly told.’”

“Let’s CELEBRATE,” cried Zoe. “Do you have champagne?”
“I think there’s a bottle in the summer kitchen.”
“Do you have any food?”
“Chex Mix and Nutella.”
“We’ll order Chinese delivered.”

Sophia hopped up and walked toward the summer kitchen while Zoe called in an order to the local Chinese restaurant. Sophia drew two dusty champagne glasses from a shelf then struggled with the cork while Zoe cleared away the laptops from the dining room table and laid down a white table cloth. Sophia brought out plates and silverware and Zoe lit some candles. Zoe looked at Sophia and smiled. Sophia looked back at Zoe and winced.

“What the matter?” asked Zoe.

“Your face looks scarier than a Steven King movie, Zo.”

Zoe ran to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and shrieked. By the time the delivery man knocked on the door with their food, Zoe’s clown face had vanished, and the two friends sat at the dining room table toasting, laughing, singing and chair dancing to Earth Wind and Fire.

As Sophia wrapped the moo shoo chicken into a pancake, she said, “I feel bad about being this happy when you are so sad. Why were you crying earlier?”
Zoe dropped her eyes before answering. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “IF YOU MOVE AWAY, WHAT WILL I DO?”
Sophia took a bite of shrimp lo mien and chewed slowly while she thought about Zoe’s question. Finally she said, “YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES. YOU CAN EITHER VISIT ME OFTEN OR YOU CAN FIGURE OUT A WAY TO MOVE TOO. BUT THE ONE THING YOU MUST DO IS LET GO OF YOUR FEAR OF THE FUTURE. WE AREN’T THERE YET.”

At that moment Tolstoy took a flying leap and landed on the table. He had a fierce look in his eye as he lorded over the women’s plates. He thought it was pretty rude of them to be eating when he was so hungry. That damn Sparky had sucked up every morsel of kibble from the cat bowl. Sparky, fearing that Tolstoy might get some of the people food through sheer force, loped over to Zoe, put his paw on her lap and threw her the sweetest look known to woman. Neither Sophia nor Zoe noticed the power politics going on between the “pals.” They were simply too busy planning.

By the time the animals were on the floor licking remains from the plates, the two friends had decided who would help them move their furniture to Florida, which paintings would hang on certain walls of the new home, how they would create more storage space, and when they would plant certain herbs and flowers in the garden. After every room in the house (they didn’t live in) was fully decorated, and after every piece of lawn furniture was arranged in the yard (that wasn’t theirs), Zoe and Sophia grew silent.

“Sophie, we both know that it isn’t practical for me to move to Florida anytime soon. I have a great job, but unless my boss will let me work remotely, I can’t give up my career.”
“I know, Zo. But if we’re gonna rake over the future, it’s better to do it about something that makes us feel good rather than how dreary we will feel being apart.”
“But you have an agent now. Do you still need to move?”
“Yes, I do. I can’t let the past keep torturing me. I need a new beginning. Do you want to know what Pema has to say about beginnings and endings?”
“Do you wanna start working on our tans at the all-night tanning salon?”
“No, Sophie. I want to crawl into bed and watch old DVDs of Sex and the City.

“Was that a Buddhist thing, Zo?”
“Sounds like.”

Okay. I’m with you. Let’s go hang with our girls.”

And so, the two fantastic fifty-something best friends climbed the stairs to the second floor and tucked themselves into Sophia’s bed. They fell asleep with the Florida sun on their faces and sex in New York City dancing like sugar plums in their heads, off on another adventure as the Sublime Consumers of the Lightness of Being.

To be continued…and remember, if you want to read the whole story, go to the bottom of the Blog and read up!  Keep sending your wonderful advice, and stay tuned to find out whether Zoe & Sophia move to Florida.

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  1. March 9th, 2010 at 12:27 | #1

    Hi, newsgossip.org…
    There’s nothing Zoe and Sophia like more than a little gossip, especially involving gorgeous men, Webcam dancing, and Nutella. The advice you seek is which song to use for your June 7th wedding. They recommend “This Will be an Everlasting Love” by Natelie Cole. Then the rest is up to you. Love is everlasting anyway since it never dies. HOWEVER, if you want to keep an everlasting marriage–don’t screw around with other people, don’t threaten divorce, listen carefully to each other and show compassion EVERY DAY! Good luck.

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