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7
Kitty
Edna and I are making lunch at my place this afternoon, and it’s nice. My friend is a curvy brunette, just like me, and we actually look pretty similar, except that she’s been blessed with fabulous pouty lips whereas I have to draw mine on with lipliner. My pal has long curly brown hair like mine, but Ed prefers to wear hers straight. I’ve tried to convince her that flat irons are death for hair, but she seems to think it’s okay. So long as heat protectant is used, her hair’s not going to burn off, and I have to admit that it does look very pretty sleek and shiny.
But different hairstyles or not, Edna and I are sisters at heart. We met in the sixth grade as spunky, extroverted kids who didn’t fit in with the rest of the class. We were the kids that wanted to be friends with everyone, but were shunned for being a bit too weird. After all, girls at that age are separating into different cliques, and following the queen bee is basically a must in order to be a part of the “in group.”
But we just weren’t “in” types of girls. Instead, we were friends with a motley crew, and sure enough, we found each other and started chatting. Once we did, we never stopped, much to our teacher’s dismay. Edna and I were glued at the hip so often that people began asking if we were sisters, given our similar looks. Eventually, we started saying yes, much to our private amusement.
But now, our paths have diverged a bit. I went off on a walkabout in Latin America after high school, whereas Edna stayed here and started college. But when I got back, we were elated to see one another again and started a tradition of hanging out one night a month, come rain or shine. Many people grow apart as their lives grow busier with college, work, boyfriends, and eventually husbands and kids, and we recognize that. But Ed and I figure if we have at least one day a month set aside just for us, then our friendship is sure to flourish.
In the past, we’ve gone go-karting, taken art classes, and even rented a paddle boat together. We’ve also traveled a bit, like our fun weekend getaway to Manhattan last year. That was such a blast, and I was so happy to have my best friend with me as we sampled everything the city has to offer.
This month, however, we’re keeping it simple. Edna is a little short on cash for now and I’ve been extremely busy at A Mouthful of Sweets. It’ll be nice just to unwind, eat some good food, and gossip. For our girls night, we’ve decided to go with a global theme, meaning we’re going to incorporate as many cultures as possible into our meal together. To get in the mood, my apartment is decked with strings of shamrocks, a few handmade Diwali sky lanterns, posters of Greek gods, and a popsicle stick rendering of the Eiffel tower. It looks random, but we’re both loving it. If you can’t be silly with your best friend, then who can you be yourself around?
Meanwhile, we’re also going crazy with the global theme for our food. I’m making potato pancakes as a main dish and baklava for dessert. Edna, meanwhile, is throwing together caramelized onion and cheese tarts, spinach soufflé, and chana masala. We’re full of laughter as we bustle around the kitchen, and even if the meal turns out awful, at least we’ll have a good time preparing it.
“So how are things?” I ask while carefully measuring some oil. My friend huffs and rolls her eyes.
“Oh my god, I went on a date with this guy I met online last week, and it was so awful! He looked like he had a second head.”
I glance at my friend.
“How is that even possible?”
Edna merely rolls her eyes again.
“I know, right? But it’s true. The guy had this weird lump sticking out of his neck, and it was big. I think it’s a tumor of some sort but he didn’t even acknowledge it. He just introduced himself and started talking.”
“Well, was he a good conversationalist?”
Edna shakes her head while mixing peas into the potatoes.
“I don’t know because I couldn’t stop staring at the tumor. It was just so weird, and I couldn’t get over it.”
At that, I have to laugh out loud.
“OMG, that’s so crazy.”
She shakes her head again.
“I know, right? But the worst part is that this guy had OCD or something. He would literally start petting the tumor while he talked. He’d stroke it like it was a pet cat, all the while telling me about his hobbies.”
“Eeeew!” I cry. “Gross!”
“I know,” she says ruefully. “I’m never going online again. Why oh why are the guys I meet so awful? I mean, a date with two heads? How does that even happen?”
