When I was a kid, one of my best friends was also my cousin. One of few girl friends I’ve ever had (you know, I recall writing those very words before. Like a writing deja vu.) Anyhow, she was two years younger than I was, so when I got married she was 17. She was in her last year of high school and I was getting married. Yes, yes, I know I was young. But, that’s another topic.
Anyhow, as any experienced person can tell you, your friends change as you get older. People fall away. You grow and change. Yadda yadda. Whatever. Point is, you just don’t usually stay besties from childhood on. We aren’t all DJ and Kimmys. So, though she liked my husband-to-be a lot, we started to drift apart the closer I got to my wedding day. By the time I had my first son, we were like strangers.
I’m going off on a tangent here, because I really just felt like writing this funny conversation out. When we were kids we had been all into the punk scene–well, as much as two teenagers can be. Shows and Chelsea cuts and Docs and five inch pins–you know, all the things anarchy is made up of. But, she started changing and got into the whole clubbing scene. And along with it came new friends and new clothes and new food. By new food, I mean lack of it. It was some fad of looking so skinny that you have to wear toddler clothing held up with diaper pins. So, they didn’t eat anything but thoughts of pizza and water. They were all obsessively talking about weight and sizes and jumping on the scale and cursing their “fat” thighs. All the things people who are size -4 say and do.
When I got there they were all getting ready to go out. I hold up the baby and show him off.
Cousin: awww he’s so sweet! Let me hold him. Look at his little feet!
Cousin’s stupid friend 1: awww how tiny
CSF2: omg he is tiny!
CSF3: He is soooo tiny! How much does he weigh?
Me: when he was born he was 9lbs 3oz.
CSF1: Ohmigawd! That’s so tiny!
CSF2: That is tiny! Awww! I wish I were that tiny!
CSF1: I know right? I’m so fat! Hes so lucky!
CSF3: yeah! He’s so lucky.
Me: Um. K. [thinking: what the fucking fuck?]
Then CSF1 couldn’t find the pastie she was getting ready to put on so she could pretend she had boobs, and she was hopping all around the room trying to find it. I had to tell her that it was stuck to her butt the whole time because she had sat on it. Then my brother dated her for four years. And it turns out I liked really her for some reason, so I never brought up the pastie incident.
There is no point to this story. I was just in the mood to write and this is what I came up with.
PostpunkChronicles 