Talking about men is usually fun. We can poke fun at them and they don’t always understand. Plus, they’re interesting to watch, kinda like a wildlife special. Women aren’t always fun. A lot of the time, they’re dramatic, prickly and believe they’re always right. The women in my life are not like that. I just don’t have time for the serious ones or the ones you have to be careful around so you don’t make them grouchy. I only like REALLY fun women.
You even have to be careful about fun women sometimes. You can’t always spot the underlying crazy. Women who were once fun can take a drastic turn once they reach “a certain age”. I had a really fun friend who went, basically, how can I say it…bat shit crazy a few years ago. And not in a fun way. Everyone walks on eggshells around her and lives in fear. I haven’t spoken to her in two years. Scary stuff. Nothing feels better than cutting the bad ones free. That’s why we need a universal ladies intervention when we see it coming. There should be a ladies farm where they can go away and be reprogrammed.
My friend, the Trophy Wife, and I have “in case of crazy” clause in our friendship. If one of us does something wrong, the other will tell her and then hide behind something. I made her somewhat mad a while back and she said “this made me mad” and I said “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m sorry” and she said “k” and it was over. That’s how true friendships should work. Any unhappy drama takes away from the time that should be spent talking about important stuff. Like how much you both hate the mean women you know and how ugly their clothes are.
I’ve figured out that I like smart women. I have some women in my life that can fire back such rude and intelligent comments that a night around the dinner table with them is like a shoot out in the old west. I love that. I like to laugh and I want women who will pull out a boob at the mall if it will make me giggle. My daughter has inherited this and is so witty and sharp that the Goose and I are sometimes downright afraid.
My son picked up my phone the other day when I was driving and told me, shocked and quiet, that someone had sent me a message that that said “play, you disease ridden whore from hell”. Who would do such a thing? My favorite Words with Friends rival, that bald headed, wine swillin’, CHEATING, gorgeous fiend from my 9th grade english class, the Sweet Talker. The Sweet Talker is all the more shocking because every word that comes out of her mouth is sweet. She is the kindest, most supportive, lovingest woman on the planet, irresistible to dogs, children and baby pigs, but every so often, she comes out with something so vile that it’s hilarious. She is such fun that she let me take a 24 pack of sharpies to her head and draw paisley tattoos. Now that’s a cool chick.
My long time best buddy, the Empress, will mince no words telling me if I’ve come down with a case of chubby. She will come right out and tell me that my jeans are doing me no favors or that I could be doing something, anything, else with my hair. She will reach right out and re-situate my bosom in my shirt, in public. She would also be there to bail me out of jail should I need it, if she were not incarcerated along with me. One of her husbands once told us he had never heard two louder women when we’re together. Well, he’s gone and I’m still here so…
I like loud women. I like a woman who will root through my closet and take what she wants and then deny it (Peaches…okay, maybe I was wrong and there are TWO of those shirts) or dress up along with me if I want to wear my old prom dresses. I like a woman who will, after I make a tipsy fool of myself, tell me “no, honey, you were CUTE!”.
A good friend will hate your ex with you, hate your husband’s ex with you, will leave your drive thru dry cleaner with you and move to one in which you have to get out, in the rain, all because the old one shrunk something and then wouldn’t fix it. They will steal a boat with your encouragement. (Notice that I won’t elaborate on this.)
When I had Shep and my boobs became so engorged and miserable that I had to put cabbage in my bra, my friend chose that day to explode her implant, thus making her boobie condition as miserable as mine. I love that she spent hours on the phone with me, both of us on pain meds, describing our miserable racks. That is true and abiding friendship.
I hope all fun women have friends as cool as mine. I adore my girls. They entertain me every day. When I look back, there will be a LOT, a LOT of stories that will cause me to laugh. While all those other, quiet and respectable women are telling stories about their grandchildren, I hope to still be calling my friends in the morning and saying “Do you think we’re going to get caught? Think we got away with it?”.