Old Friends Don’t Get Old
Getting together with old friends is always a pleasant task. Just a few days ago, I met up with my friends, Muriel and Hazelle. We have been friends for sixteen – sixteen! – years now.
When someone knows all your flaws, all the skeletons in your closet, yet accepts you to have enough gall to scold you, it feels like you have an itch that you can finally scratch to the point of bleeding. Yeah, I know, it’s that morbid.
And while we ranted and guffawed to our hearts content, we talked about suspenders, Sor Teresa, crashing the bride’s honeymoon suite, and smoking with red lipstick.
Yes, these stories are hilarious and utterly ridiculous. These are our stupid stories, which we enjoy immensely in our own silly ways, with or without wine. Life is harsh and almost surreal in its capacity to bring pain, but it also yields a motley crew of friends that are there to stay and embarrass you with their semi-accurate accounts of your past. And yes, they make all the pain (and the stories of cock and dick trees) worth it.