I am, if anything else, fiercely loyal. And I expect that same ferocity from everyone I know. Someone once told me this expectation is pathological. This was looked in to. The evidence was inconclusive (pathogens are very small and I have bad eyesight), but needless to say that someone has since contracted an all-body rash called “getting burned.”
BACK ME UP.
- I Made A Huge Unjustified Purchase & Am Shaking In A Corner. You swoop in like a mama bird with a mouth full of comfort-worms. Stuff like, “You deserve it, you work so hard.” “It was a rough week.” “You’re a beautiful prince with excellent taste and an affinity for the material; this is a favor to the world.” I eat these worms straight from your mouth and fall from that shaking-nest like a winged rock—burdened, but making it work.
- My Landlord Shut Off The Hot Water Because I Drunk Texted Him A Picture Of My Butt. You agree—he can’t take a joke. But I need hot water, so we knock on his door, which he doesn’t answer because either he has great face-butt recognition or he isn't home. Luckily you brought the crowbar your dad gave you to protect yourself from weird city-men. We pry the thing open, knock over a few things, leave a picture of YOUR butt, and boom bang pow—the hot water is back on within the hour.
- The Most Boring Person On The Planet Is Talking To Me & Killing Myself Would Be Too Much Of A Scene. There are preplanned escape routes for these things. I text you the SOS. You’re there in three minutes. I introduce you, my very interesting friend, the who consults for corporations. The boring person is mesmerized. I escape down an alley. I can only do this three times in any friendship. I have to cook you dinner for a month.
- One Of The Pets I’m Sitting Dies In Its Sleep. The whole situation is a mess. I’m inconsolable. There’s shit everywhere. Sparky’s owner will be back tomorrow. But you have this handled. You bring me a milkshake and some shovels. We bury Sparky under the succulent garden on the porch. You call the owner as me. Sparky was dognapped. They came in the night. They had guns. Huge guns. They probably got them off the internet—we really need to close that terrible loophole. We Febreze the place and make a ransom note by cutting out pieces of gossip magazines that won’t leave Jennifer Aniston alone. We think about Jen, hope she’s happy. Justin Theroux seems nice. We go home and watch Marley & Me.
- There's A Party Happening Down The Street & My Celebrity Crush Is There & We Know This Because We Can Use The Internet. We have to get me into that party at all costs. We dress in a combination of our fanciest (but most-chill) clothes and call your friend Josh With The Escalade. He owes you because you did all his math homework in high school and you plan to ride that favor out until the Escalade breaks down. We pull up to the place. Bad-at-math Josh opens the door for us like I'm Rihanna and you're Rihanna's friend. The bouncer lets us in immediately. I track down the crush and through a series of choreographed turns and nudges, back them into an empty room. You guard the door with that crowbar. The CC (Celeb Crush) and I make out a little, but end up just talking about how hard it is to be famous. Crush completed, we steal some party drinks and have Josh pick us up for a tour around town. We Snapchat the whole thing. 4 people watch it.
- I'm Hungry But You Ate Already. We order six burgers and split them equally. I stand in the bathroom while you puke. Now you're hungry. We order six more burgers.