Years ago — back when we were young, dumb, wearing bodycon skirts to bars, and thought vodka crans were a personality — the beginning of my college crew formed. It started before college really, with Robin: the blonde to my brunette, the first friend I made in high school, and the most irreplaceable piece of my heart. If soulmates come in platonic form, mine is her.

Then came Paige. I was terrified of her when I entered college because I thought she hated me. Plot twist: she didn’t. Turns out she just has the resting face of a girl who will absolutely sharpen her spear for you, hype you up in the same breath, and always — and I mean always — tells it exactly like it is.

Next was Stacie — my tequila-and-taco-loving soul sister. She is the vibe. She is joy. She is the living definition of a girls’ girl. When God made women, he said, “I want to make one that brings fun to every room whether people want it or not,” and voilà: Stacie.

Then came Katie — our constant quirk, laughter generator, wildcard in the best way. God said ,“Let there be chaos,” and we said, “We’ll take one Katie, please.”

And finally, Britni — the easiest human to simply be with. Everyone loves her, because she’s the kindest, warmest presence and makes you feel like the world has space for you exactly as you are. She also married one of my childhood best friends, so obviously she was destined for us.

Together, we have been through it all: breakups, heartache, new jobs, rock bottoms, joy, weddings, babies, and everything in between. Through every stage of life, we choose each other. Always.

The Death (And Resurrection) of Friendsgiving

In college we made a pact: Friendsgiving every single year — rain, shine, babies, boyfriends, chaos, whatever. And we did it. Every year we challenged ourselves to make dishes we’d never attempted, laughed, drank, lived, and made memories even our worst hangovers couldn’t destroy…Until this year.

Miss Newlywed Stacie had the audacity to get married (rude) and then run off on her honeymoon over Thanksgiving (ruder), officially pausing a sacred tradition.But fear not: she redeemed herself almost immediately.

While sipping champagne on a train somewhere in Europe, living her best rom-com protagonist life, she saw a TikTok of a soup party and immediately sent it to me with something along the lines of “We (you) have to plan this.” And like a true event-planning sicko, my brain ascended.

The Soup & Craft Night Criteria

The invitation (with theme, colour palette and very loose agenda because… obviously) stated:

• Dress comfy + cozy, because duh.
• Bring one pot of soup.
• Bring a drink for the group.
• Craft will be provided. (God have mercy.)

Now here’s the thing about Stacie and me: subtle? We don’t know her. We are the queens of “Well, if one idea is good, ten ideas will be a BLAST.” So we picked not one craft…

but two. First craft: painting portraits of each other. Second craft: painting little houses to become Christmas décor. Now listen… the houses? A flop. But the portraits? A spiritual awakening disguised as an ego check. If you want to laugh until you cry and possibly pee a little — paint your friends’ faces. There is no faster path to humility.

Katie painted a portrait of me that I will be framing in my home until the end of time. I personally think she captured the essence of Mia Thermopolis pre makeover in The Princess Diaries — and honestly? Art is subjective so we’ll call it iconic.

The Food, The Friendship, The Chaos

We laughed until our cheeks hurt. We cackled until tears were shed. We critiqued brush strokes like we were auditioning for the Thunder Bay Art Gallery (who, in case they disagree with our lack of talent — yes, we are available). We ate soup… so much soup. Taco soup, butternut squash, chicken pot pie, marry-me chicken, sausage + tortellini, chicken bacon gnocchi — if it can be served in a bowl, we made it.

Our bellies = full.

Our freezers = even more full.

Our hearts = fullest.

It wasn’t really about the soup or the crafts (although both were unhinged and excellent in their own ways).

It was about us. It was about showing up. It was about making space for joy.

So here’s your reminder:Call your girls. Make the plan. Wear the cozy clothes. Do the dumb craft. Eat the soup. Laugh until you snort. Because your girls — the real ones — will always be there, judgement-free, hearts open, ready to choose you in every phase of life.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.