I missed mass yesterday--and I try never to miss mass during Lent--because I was out drinking. In the afternoon.

I'd gotten up early enough to make the noon mass, even with that damn daylight-savings nonsense, but then I frittered away the time until I was just barely able to meet Lulu for our planned 1.30 brunch. No problem, I thought: I'd make the 5.30 service. What are the chances that we'll be together for more than four hours?

Very high, as it turns out, on a gorgeous day close to 80 degrees, with everything in bloom and everybody out on the streets throwing off their coats and blinking in astonishment at the sunlight. We had a fabulous meal with terrible service, in the course of which we ran into a couple who looked strangely familiar--and who we finally concluded were the crazy roommate we had in our summer sublet in the city six years ago (the summer after my first year in grad school and Lulu's second year in law school) and said roommate's then-boyfriend, now-husband. We spent the whole meal staring at them in the mirror behind our table, trying to get a positive ID, and laughing about what a toilet-paper-hoarding control freak she was.

From thence we wandered over to the flea market on the next block, which was a mob scene but as wacky and compelling as usual. I got a call from Bert, who was rambling bored around his neighborhood and looking for something to do. I told him to come uptown and join us, and he did. Lulu and Bert have long been my closest friends in the city, and the three of us used to hang out all the time--but what with Bert's several-year withdrawal into his own little world, I don't think he and Lulu had seen each other in four or five years, and it seemed high time to effect a reunion.

Then, after some time prowling through the stalls, playing with sock puppets, and chatting up the guy who rewires vintage toasters, we decided that we needed a drink. It was after four, but I still figured that I could make mass--my church was only a 16-block walk away--but of course by then it was a losing cause. We found a dive bar with $2.50 beers, plunked ourselves down on a few bar stools, and had two or three beers apiece. Oh, and two rounds of shots. As Lulu said, with enthusiasm, "I'd forgotten about afternoon drinking! How could I forget?"

So, actually, I refuse to feel too bad about this. Sometimes reaffirming friendships with people I now see too infrequently, and whom I'll be moving away from soon, seems like the best possible use of my time.