My pal Jen called me yesterday, out of the deep blue sky of forever since we last spoke. It’s been like, almost an entire calendar year and none of it mattered once we got down to giving each other shit. We somehow became solid friends in spite of ourselves.
Last fall, me and Jen engaged in some horizontal shenanigans. I blamed it on my inability to untangle myself from a married woman who chose her sides based on which social media platform she was using. Jen blamed it on the wine. We both agreed that the holidays would play our foil.
So when the gal I once played human Rubik’s Cube with dialed me up almost an entire calendar year later (Read: More than nine months hence), my mind wandered to a place no dude wants to be entertaining on a lazy Saturday. Until she hit me with the what’s what of her matter of fact.
“I’m engaged!” She coughed.
“What in the blessed fuck girl?! You? Miss . . . I’m never getting married again?”
“I changed my mind, okay? Jesus!” She laughed.
“It’s a damn shame because you were worth WAY more on the market,” I laugh. “But seriously, congratulations,”
“Yeah well . . the market is depressed,” Jen laughs back.
“So I’ve heard,”
“And get this, he totally understands dipping pizza in Nutella,”
“Oh shit, he’s retarded?”
“As long as you’re both retarded, you will live happily ever after . .”
“Hey, what’s doing today? Wanna grab some coffee and I can show you the rock?”
“Hey . . yeah! Maybe we could go for manicures and chat up The Bachelor too!”
“Fuck you, seriously though. Coffee?”
“Let’s change it up a little bit. I wanna see Aquaman, so bring coffee and I’ll get the tickets,”
“Ooooooh! Jason Momoa, mama likey! Okay . . you got a deal. But they’re not gonna let us bring coffee in . .”
“First of all, you and I both know that some pimply faced ticket attendant is no match for your sweet talking ways . . and besides, not a concern if we get there early and catch up. That way we’re not being those people who chatter over the movie, yanno?”
“Those people suck,”
“Exactly . . .”
So we met up with plenty of time to spare. Jen gifted me a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup hot chocolate, which is way more sinfully stupid than it sounds. After she showed me the ‘rock’, we got down to the business of giving each other shit.
I asked her if Ryan has any kids, and she said he has one son from his previous marriage. “But he’s fifteen, which is kind of a big deal for me since every time I hear some bratty six year old throwing a tantrum in public, I think there’s no way . . .” Jen said.
“That’s very mature. I usually just think that dad’s penis was evil and mom’s vagina was broken,”
“I am at peace with being a selfish bitch,”
“You know what I’m at peace with? The idea of a meteor crashing down to earth while the world is sleeping,”
“Well more than half the world would not be sleeping, and it would be kind of horrible . .” Jen said.
“Yes, and I am at peace with the idea that I would be on the sleeping side of the planet when it happened,” I said.
“I would want to be awake, and at a Dave Matthews concert or something,” Jen said.
“Oh my fucking God,”
“Why do you hate Dave Matthews?”
“I don’t. Because to hate infers an emotional investment, and I don’t invest myself in pretentious monkeys who believe their lyrics should be amended into the ten commandments,”
“Nope, no hate at all . .”
Jen’s phone chimes and it’s Ryan. She puts it on speaker so that introductions can be made in the new old fashioned way. The dude sounds just like a movie star, and Jen’s eyes light up when he speaks.
“My man, first of all . . . condolences. I would like to tell you things will get better but I’m a horrible liar . . .” I say.
The two of them crack up in unison, like little kids who share a secret no one else in the world is privy to. Jen’s face scrunches up and when it irons itself out I can see the little girl she used to be. The one who believed in fairy tales and princes and happy endings. And inside this wonderful moment, flowers are blooming in the middle of winter and the world is making sense. I am smitten with these two, and it turns me into a ball of mush and it steals my snarky retorts.
I hate when that happens.