Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Smart people

I have a friend whom I will call Whitney to protect her, me, and her kids, and my kids, and the dogs, etc.
Anyway, Whitney is the funniest bitch I've ever met, in my life, hands down. She is 7 months sober, and is just emerging from the ass end of her second divorce. She has three girls, 16, 8, 3, and it is a wonder that she is not taking Klonapin through an i.v., just to keep sane. Just to keep sane.
Anyway, Whitney made me waffles yesterday.
"I used the Krusteaz waffle mix, so they're as close to homemade as you're gonna get," she said as her 3-year-old jumped onto her stomach for the 5th time, probably rupturing her bladder.
"Umph, god, why do you have to jump on me?!"
She heaped 5 enormous waffles on to my plate.
"I'm not going to eat 5 fucking waffles."
"Eat 'em you skinny bitch, maybe you'll grow your ass back."
I removed 2 of the waffle bricks from my plate and then doused them with Mrs. Butterworth's and margarine. Being at Whitney's house reminded me of my friend Mary's house, where I would eat all the junk food my bloated belly could hold and then have like 15 root beers before being flung back into my mother's puritannical, Mennonite kitchen. Funny because now my mother eats cookies like they're falling off the earth, she should be about 700lbs, but, of course, she isn't.
So, the waffles. The edges were crisp, they were a little hard to cut. I balanced the plate in my lap while I cut, rigorously, and a piece finally broke free. I ate the first piece. It was VERY dense. Whitney must have seen the look on my face.
"Oh yeah, I got confused with 'mix' and 'milk'. I didn't know that they were supposed to be buttermilk waffles and couldn't figure out why the directions called for 2 cups of milk."
I chewed on, laughing while the heavy crumbs of waffle fell to the floor.
"I know, I have a law degree, just opened up my own practice, and I can't figure out mix and milk. I know."
"You said it, not me."
It's the little things that clog us up. We smart people have these release moments, these reminders that we are not supposed to be smart all of the time, maybe not even 60% of the time. It's a relief to know I'm not the only one who has seen the inside of my ass with my brainy eyes.
For dinner, my brother's wife made stir fry and I invited myself over. It was a quiet affair, mostly because I was wolfing down the food, my first real meal in awhile.

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