This past weekend I had the pleasure of spending the day in Martinsburg, WV. My grandmother had just had a medical scare and it was about time that I visited them. I never, however, make a trip to Martinsburg without giving my friend, Katie, a call.
Katie and I met and became BFF’s when I was nine years old. Through every grade, every relationship, every journey – she is the friend in whom I confided every step of the way. Katie knows every single member of my family as if they are her family. She and I have rotated hundreds of articles of clothing through each other’s closets; and she and I have exchanged hundreds of encouraging Bible verses through each other’s lives. Thanks to regular sleepovers, together we are probably guilty of a minimum of 261 of her mother’s sleepless nights. Katie was the one who taught me what the word ‘cleavage’ meant, nailed me in the eye with a baseball and danced with me on her coffee table to the song “I’m Gonna Be (500 miles)” at the end of “Benny and Joon.”
Imagine my surprise on Sunday when Katie – who knows me best – made a false assumption about me!
My grandparents, Brian and I arrived at Katie’s house and helped her bring in her groceries. One item was toilet paper.
Katie, “Chris is going to kill me for getting the generic brand.”
Me, “Can you get rid of the packaging? Maybe he won’t know.”
Katie, “Oh, he’ll know.”
Ma (that’s Grandma), “Is it two ply? If it’s two ply, I don’t think it’ll make a difference.”
And then we discussed our toilet paper preferences. Mind you, I haven’t seen Katie in months and we had plenty to catch up on; but this is how we roll.
Me, “I was just at a class in NY and had to evaluate it. At the end of the evaluation I just had to mention how thin their toilet paper was. ‘You do realize that while you think you’re saving money with this cheap toilet paper, I’m just going to use four times as much, right?’”
Katie, “I think the worst is when a public restroom has the toilet paper so low that it’s hard to reach because it’s lower than the seat.”
Me, “I think it’s the worst when you see that they’ve had toilet seat liners, but have never refilled them. Like, are you trying to impress me that you used to care?”
(I would like to emphasize here that next year we will have been friends for 20 years.)
Katie, “Really? You use liners? I pictured you as a squatter.”
You… pictured me… as a squatter? Me? A toilet seat lining fanatic be a squatter? How could our friendship have missed this? And what exactly fits the profile of a squatter anyhow? Let this be a lesson, men, that women are so mysterious and so complex that it really does take a lifetime to figure out even just one of us.
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