There were robes, thank god, because we'd all gone into the pool in our clothes and then left them in soaking heaps on the back porch. There was coffee, also thank god, and the aroma of a fry-up in progress emanating from the kitchen.
Nobody wanted to look at each other. We sat awkwardly trying to make sure the robes covered everything we found suddenly shameful.
"Breakfast!" Muriel poked her head in, holding the frying pan. "Come on, darlings."
Eggs and muffins and bacon and orange juice. It was heaven. We dove in.
Obie offered weakly, "My place, next year?"
