- Things that never happen to you because your pals are good folks.
- They’ll take a bullet for you or at least hold your Brazilian braids up as you puke last night’s party down the toilet.
Diary,
There’s an old adage common to people who have suffered a bit of unexpected disappointment: “With friends like these, who needs enemies?”
Way I see it, friends are like classic (read that old) cars. You love them although you know for a fact, they’ll let you down sooner than later. You’ve probably heard of a maid of honour caught in the church toilet with the groom. Or the person who shared a project with a buddy only for the “friend” to present it to the boss as their own. What about the best friend secretly dating your husband?
Most of the time these are only fun reads or strange whispers. Things that never happen to you because your pals are good folks. They’ll take a bullet for you or at least hold your Brazilian braids up as you puke last night’s party down the toilet.
Then there are my buddies. They aren’t a close bunch for several reasons. Most guys my age (northside of thirty, that is) are married with families. Not me. How will I reciprocate when they share tales of the change in colour of their kids’ poops? Or the best diaper in the market? Still, I develop working relationships with these guys.
So, when I invite my American friend Ms Harper to our annual work party, I expect them to extend her the same courtesy I do their spouses (Apart from the guy who caught his wife kissing me at another party. But in my defence, she came on to me.). Throughout the party, I let my date mingle and I see nothing to complain about. That lasts until we get into the car to go home.
“Wow!” Harper whooshes.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Are those guys your friends? If they are, they aren’t very good ones.”
“Why?”
“If shooting one’s shot meant bullets, I’d be dead thrice over.”
In shock, I ask, “They came on to you?”
“Whatever it was, they surely made a case for not being with you. As we speak, I have a history of every woman you’ve ever slept with, a good chunk of them married, a few barely legal, and others staring death in the eyes. I mean, the whole gamut. It’s like reading the female census of a small island country. I only have one question.”
“Yes, it’s true I slept with Queen Elizabeth right before she gave up the ghost.”
“I’ll add her to the least. But my question is—and I’m not one to judge, mind you—is it true you once had an orgy with three women all above eighty?”
Like I said, folks, with friends like these, who needs enemies.