When life gets too much, I close my eyes and imagine I'm in my happy place: a roadside cafe called The Greasy Stomach.
Unexpectedly, there's someone else there too, who explains, "I'm at one of my husband's erotic poetry recitals."
I nod and focus on my bacon sandwich.
Every year, on this day, the whole gang gathers to shout nouns into the canyon.
"Butter!" shouts Gladys.
"Hieroglyph!" Sally bellows.
At full volume, I always go with "Steeple!"
Touchingly, Zoe cries "Turpentine!" on behalf of Tina, who fell in the canyon last time.