Third base is a play date at one of our houses. This is a tricky base because your kids are now on home court and your new friend is going to see your daughter body slam her toddler to the ground and take back the toy that he just picked up. She will see the layer of dried-on grime coating your kid’s chair at the table, and she will notice the unflushed dooky from your son’s morning dump. Third base is not for the weak. It’s about to get real up in here. There could be laundry piles. You better have the relational stamina for this kind of commitment. By third base, I’m full frontal hugging, so prepare for that. If you’re my third base friend, get ready for our boobs smashed up together while I ask how you’re doing right in your ear. If you answer that with any kind of trauma, I’m a-gonna pull it right back together for another mash up, breathe some words of encouragement into your ear, then pull back for some heavy eye contact. (Upon reading this, my husband informed me, “Who are you kidding? You’re easy. You go for full frontal hugging on first base.” So I’m a hug-slut. Bring it in, ladies. I’m ready.