I have known my best friend for 13 years and through the years we have shared a gazillion adventures – we are both rather inventive and end up in situations thereafter. At times she knows me better than I know myself (read: she sees my blind spots and warns me about the stupid mistakes I’m about to make – usually what guys not to date).
Now, the thing is, I know her too – I know the stories she loves, the stories she hates and the stories she loves to have on the repetoire when we meet new people. So when we are hanging out with people, depending on what stories she’s telling them I know what she thinks about them – I know if she’s trying to entertain them, avoid them, or get close to them. If there are men around that she thinks are nice for me, she will work like my best ever promoter – if the guy is great at something, or have a passion, she will invariably sneak into the discussion somehow, how great I am at the same thing, or how much I like it. Next, she will brag about all my skills – usually directing and writing. If she starts talking about what a great dancer, or masseuse I am, she is really trying to sell me (the best one I have heard so far was Christmas time last year: “So she was standing in the kitchen yesterday, wearing high heeled slippers and a mini-skirt, doing a Marily Monroe dance to Santa Baby and baking delicious gingerbread cakes…” Never mind that I probably frightened the neighbors to death.). The other day she mentioned not once, but three times that I was swimming naked when we were camping in the mountains in Europe. When we came home I was like: “So, you really hoped this guy would take a fancy to me, didn’t you?” “What? Why?” (I am totally innocent, giggle, giggle.) Needless to say, she tries this with any guy she thinks is sweet and has a good heart, bless her.
Her mom, on the other hand, if she likes one of our friends or lovers will tell “cute” stories from our teenage years. Like how we had heard that using a rolling pin on your bum and legs would remove cellulite and decided to try this out (aged fourteen or fifteen…clearly in need of these remedies…not). Apparently I was yelling (from the basement) “It hurts, stop, stop, I’m not that fat!” (For the record – the rolling pin does break up tissue, so, uh, it’s actually good for you…ahem..) Then comes the story of the time I went missing in the woods with a guy (we got lost during a thunderstorm) and she was fretting about what to tell my dad “Uh, your fifteen year old daughter has disappeared in the woods with a guy and by the way, there’s a thunderstorm.” Her mother, for that matter, has never stopped honking at cute guys when we are in her car…she is not as smooth as her daughter – if there is a cute guy around he is sure to pay attention to either me or my friend – by force if nothing else…
Luckily, none of them usually tell guys the story of the time we were the opening act for a dance show – we had to pretend to be circus workers setting up this tent and, consequently, our golden dance costumes had to be hidden underneath coats. To achieve this I tucked my golden little skirt into my knickers, so that nothing would stick out. After setting up the tent we had to toss our coats off and do our dance…and…I danced with my skirt tucked in my knickers… Nor do they tell the story of when I was naked in a changing room and ten guys charged in. Nor do I. It’s a secret. Schyyyyssss….