Excerpts from the End

And now, as promised, a little bit of proof that I was not always as demure and objective about my friendship with Anne than I have been this week. Particularly as that friendship was coming to an end. All of these quips were written in the last year of our friendship, during a period of time when I should have made the courageous choice to end things, rather than simply writing sassy journal entries complaining about the fact that they wouldn’t end on their own.

But since I don’t have a time machine, all I can do is accept what happened and share these with you to add a little levity to what has been a fairly serious week around here…

In which I lose patience with new lifestyle choices…

If I have to hear one more thing about the amount of protein in tuna, or the Oprah-endorsed self-help book she’s basing her entire new fun-free life on, I am probably going to shoot myself. Or, more likely, say something very rude by appropriate like, Call me when you get back to reality.

In which I receive a perhaps well-intentioned but very ill-conceived gift…

Anne went to Grand Forks over the weekend. When she came back, she told me she had brought me treats. Of course, I was excited by this prospect, dreaming of Cookie Dough Bites and Swedish Fish. But no. First of all, she didn’t buy anything for me. She opened the boxes of stuff she bought herself and took some out to give to me. And what she bought herself was weight control oatmeal and appetite suppressant juice. This is why I can’t talk to her anymore. Well, not specifically because she didn’t bring me back Cookie Dough Bites, but because her idea of a treat is diet oatmeal. Granted, I am intrigued by the possibility of banana bread-flavoured oatmeal, but I would be just as intrigued if it were regular strength oatmeal.

In which I learn that Friday, is, in fact, not part of the weekend…

Anne makes me want to scream. Why this time? you may wonder. Allow me to explain… Deliberate reticence over nothing more significant than what she’s doing on Friday night – after asking me to do something on “the weekend”; apparently I ought to have known that Friday did not fall into that category – is how it began. I was – understandably, I think – frustrated by this. And since I have given up taking what Anne dishes out, I made it clear. Anne’s – very logical – reaction was to send Topher a text message asking if I was angry with her.

In which I take, perhaps, slightly more enjoyment than is strictly polite in life without Anne…

Last year’s Christmas dinner was disastrous. It was Topher, Anne, Ian and me. No one liked the food, precious little drinking was done even though it was Saturday night, and I got yelled at. In short, fun was had by none. The major change this year, of course, was that Anne was not invited to spoil things. Rude as I am aware that it is to say, I have never been to a party that was not improved by her absence.

Happy Friday, my friends!