A re-worked re-post in honor of my sister, who is buying me lunch today.
Yay! Free food!
This one's for you, Ka-en.
Somewhere in our early 30s, my sister and I lived together. It was a good time; and when our sons were away on the weekends, as sometimes happened, we’d use the quiet time to get loud.
Shots of vodka and Rollerblades. Do you have any idea how well these things go together? Trust me: a drunk chick on skates has no fear and no compunction against, saying, skating to the grocery store to get smokes.
It’s how we both learned to spin.
Karen and I are “happy” drinkers, and are known for laughing until tears roll down our faces.
I remember coming into the kitchen in time to see her head in the fridge, an odd “pssssssssssst” sound coming from its interior.
“Come ‘ere! Come ‘ere! Wanna know something really tasty?” She held up the Redi-Wip container. “Open your mouth!!”
Ah, why not?! I opened my mouth and Karen filled it with whipped cream.
“Hey, you wanna know something else cool?”
Do I wanna know what else is cool? You mean there's more?!
She pulled me to to the floor, opening a cupboard. Reaching in, all the way to the back, she pulled out a box of saltine crackers and one of those cans of pre-made fudge frosting.
“Put this on ‘ere. Try it.”
Well hot damn, if fudge frosting isn’t good on a cracker!
“Whatcha eatin’” became a joke. We would call each other at work, leave whispered messages on voice mail: Whatcha eatin’? We would yell it at each other through the bathroom door: Hey! Whatcha eatin’?
One day, I was downstairs cleaning the litter box. Exhausted from a day of work and preceding days of cleaning houses, I sat on the floor, hunched over and brain-dead, sifting through the litter box using a large slotted spoon.
Karen walked by me, glanced, kept going – and then stopped, backed up to take a second look.
I can never look at a slotted spoon without remembering that: the sifting of the cat poop, the look on Karen’s face as she backed up…
The simplest memories are the best.
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