One of the tests of a true friend (aside from listening to you moan about your troubles, engage in the ahh-just-one-more-drink dance, and chuckle somewhat indulgently while you think you’re being funny) is the willingness to tell you when there’s something weird on your face.
Or anywhere else.
I got to thinking about this at work the other day, after discovering that I’d walked from the bathroom stall to the sink to the full-length mirror with my skirt tucked in my underwear.
Isn’t that charming?
I’m just so glad that I “checked my look” before heading back to my desk. Nothing screams “executive assistant” like showing people my executive ass.
And that little bit of happiness – catching myself before being made a jackass – amused me the rest of the day.
But it also reminded me of someone I once thought of as a friend.
You would think, wouldn’t you, that if you were both single at the time and out for drinks, for flirtation, to dance and laugh, that your friend would tell you about the spinach leaf covering your two front teeth before you discovered it yourself, hours later, wouldn’t you?
I had spent several hours looking like I was missing my front teeth.
And she never said a word.
I wonder what she’s up to these days?
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