People often ask Becky and I if we are sisters. To which Becky always responds,
“Yes, I’m the much younger, nicer sister.”
But no, we are not sisters. (And fyi - she is older than you might think)
Becky and I met years ago when our children attended school together. As you know, there are mothers you click with and those you don’t. I knew Becky and I were going to be fast friends when one day we were chatting in the school parking lot. As she opened her van door, to let her children out, a bunch of junk just fell out. It didn’t faze her one bit, she just kept on talking…even though her child, who was standing right beside her, was now five minutes late for school. I knew then and there she was a keeper!
Those who meet Becky instantly like her. She is always smiling, always running somewhere, always willing to give a hand or hug. I tend to be a “tad” more reserved. I think people who smile all the time are secretly insane. My goal when I wake up in the morning is to get home as soon as I possibly can. And I will go out of my way to avoid an oncoming - public display of affection.
And yet, Becky and I remain the best of friends. Only problem is that for years, Becky has been trying to make me more like her.
“Come work out with me.”
“No. I might see someone I know.”
“Come to a Metallica concert with me.”
“No. I might get mugged.”
“Come give me a hug.”
“No. Do we need to review our rules about ‘boundaries’ again?”
So a few weeks ago, as I was preparing for a trip, Becky arrived with some clothes for me to borrow. I perused through what she had brought.
“No way - I can’t wear any of these. Do you really wear these hippi clothes?”
Exasperated, she said, “You need to get out of your box!”
“Hey, I like my box. My box has a pool, tivo, unlimited caramelos and a weekly subscription to People Magazine. People would kill to be in my box.”
Could this friendship be saved?
“Fine, wear your usual funeral clothes. Now, let’s make up - I’m coming in for a hug - brace yourself!”