|Great Place to Recharge Your Batteries|
I love telling tales of dysfunction in rural New York State to my friend, Bella, who lives smack dab in the center of the City. Let me tell you, the tales here are quite watered down and take on fictional attributes because they’re simply too wild even for this blog!
At first, Bella used to respond in full sentences to my stories. After several years of listening to my yarns where she’s as intimate as I am with all the nuances and details, she intermittently emits an occasional, “Oh No!” and giggles.
I love that. Her “Oh No!” in those two-tones with the ensuing giggle which sums everything up.
She had her dose this past Thanksgiving when I visited the night before to do my usual: seated at her well-maintained 1950’s vintage kitchen table watching her toil. This is her one shot a year to create a gourmand’s dream and she pulls an all-nighter to create culinary masterpieces. For four years, I witnessed magic coming from one operational stove top and 3” of counter space. Since the massive restoration of her kitchen this past spring, she surpassed herself this year with 15 main courses and 8 side dishes. The photo below reflects only half of what she cooked:
|Just in case we were hungry after the turkey, Boeuf Bourguignon!|
I, of course, was the official taste tester. Around 3am, I snuck off while her back was turned to crash on the living room sofa. The second REM sleep kicked in, she woke me with a giant spatula in hand.
“Wake up!” she shrieked in my good ear, kicking my foot.
“Huh?” I said, groggily, struggling to sit up.
“Taste this!” she imperiously stated and shoved a massive spoon of something amazingly delicious in my mouth.
“Fantastic!” I said while chewing. The moment I swallowed, I fell back asleep until the next time she came over to awaken me.
The following day, her family came over. They usually eat and then take off after an hour to visit and partake of other family members' Thanksgiving meals. She and I then hang out, eating, drinking, watching horror movies and talking.
This year, though, was a slight departure. Her mother and cousin entered the house and the first words out of her cousin’s mouth was, “Where are the guys?”
Bella and I stared at each other. “Guys?”
Her mother added, “Yeah. What - no boyfriends, girls?’
That’s when things got surreal. You see, Bella’s mother and I are the same age. Bella could be my daughter even though I relate to her as a peer. She has a depth, a wisdom that surpasses her chronological age. Hell, she’s more mature than 99% of the people I meet my own age! I also enjoy her creativity whether it’s in her job, her cooking or her hobbies.
This year, her family stuck around almost all day talking about men. I got rather put off when I heard someone talk about getting fucked (in those words) and muff diving. Talk about subtlety!
To top it off, Bella put on the Hallmark Channel. Even that didn’t chase them out. By the time they finally left, I wanted to get good and drunk.
“Wasn’t that rather orchestrated?” I alluded to the initial conversation which was repeated the duration of their visit.
“You do realize, Bella, your mom and your family believe we’re Lesbian lovers.”
Right now the both of us are between boyfriends. Even so, last year I refused to allow my then-boyfriend to her Thanksgiving because of our tradition.
“Oh No!” and then she giggled. That “Oh No!” was an entire conversation in and of itself. It’s the same “Oh No!” when I ended up doing a project with Monkey Boy, when I found out my ex-boyfriend was a sex slave bondage porn star, and when a toothless wonder took umbrage that I didn’t want to help him out. It’s that two-note expression of absurdity so absurd it doesn’t require words.
And that’s why Bella’s my friend. She gets it.
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