Many years ago I had a friend I’ll call Dottie.
Dottie and I shared several similarities.
I loved her sense of humor.
One day, Dottie said to me, “Well, I’m ready to die now.”
“How’s that?” I said.
“I pulled out my kitchen stove and cleaned behind it,” she said. “And I finally dealt with some underwear I had been soaking in a bucket in my garage for weeks. I hated the thought that anyone who came to clean my house after my death would think I was a slob.”
Dottie and I discussed recipes and our kids, and we talked a lot about the number one topic of women: losing weight.
I shared with Dottie that I had held onto a black skirt I had worn in the past but had “outgrown.” I was trying to eat reasonably and exercise so I could again wear that skirt.
Happily, I reached that goal and wore the skirt to work one day. I stopped by Dottie’s desk to share my success with her.
“Congratulations!” Dottie said. “Now that you’ve lost weight, you just need to do something with that hair of yours and you’ll be looking good!”
Dottie had a way of doing that. She would utter what sounded like a compliment and then turn around and slap you with her next comment.
I’m sure my hand flew to my hair when she said what she said.
“I think you should get a perm,” Dottie said.
“No!” I said. “I hate perms! My hair soaks up perm solution like a dry sponge absorbs water. I always wind up looking like Richard Simmons.”
“You need to see my hairdresser,” said Dottie. “She is fantastic. Let me make you an appointment for a perm. You’ll love it.”
The appointment was made, and Dottie and I planned to meet for lunch afterward.
I visited Dottie’s hairdresser.
My hair soaked up that perm solution like a dry sponge absorbs water. I looked like a curvy Richard Simmons.
I met Dottie at the restaurant right after my hair appointment. Her mouth dropped open when she saw me.
“Oh, Debbie!” she said. “That’s awful.”
She laughed her loudest laugh. I tried to laugh but couldn’t.
Encounters with Dottie often ended that way. She would be laughing, and I would be failing to see the humor in the situation.
I haven’t seen Dottie for years, and I don’t want to see her.
Before you judge me too harshly, allow me to say if I did see her, I would be kind. I’d ask about her kids and grandkids. I might even ask if she had pulled her kitchen stove out for a good cleaning lately.
But I would NOT suggest we get together and renew our friendship.
The middle knuckle of the middle finger of my right hand has a knot on it. The knot resulted from a wasp sting I suffered back in the summer while I was working in the yard.
It was a particularly painful sting, and it left me with that knotted knuckle.
I plan to be more careful as I do yard work this summer.
I hate being stung.