Well, hello there, Friend!
Hey, Saint, whatcha doin’?
Playing with my iPad.
Again? Still? I wonder about you because that’s what you always say. So, how’s Mrs. Saint?
Taking her usual morning-afternoon-early evening nap.
You’re really not so busy, then? Got a minute? I’ve got something of great importance to say…something I thought I’d never say.
And, put your “I-Pad” away…or whatever…because I’ve also got a favourite to ask of you.
The Moon for You, M’Dear. Just say. Just ask.
Here’s the importance part: I love, love, love shopping at Wal-Mart.
*gasp* with pause and a snort.
Wait! Let me finish.
Yes, of course, My Lovely…audible sigh…
Well, it’s like this: whenever I ask Babe “Do I look fat in these pants?”…she just looks at me with adoring eyes. Not much of an answer, but most days the adoring-eye trick works.
*gasp* with [another] snort and [another] pause…
Let. Me. Finish.
Shopping for The Mother today at Wal-Mart has lifted my spirits, my waistline, my bust line, my knees and bum. Dare I mention the crow’s feet around my eyes are gone, too? When in Wal-Mart I care not about my pants or how I look. Pants or sans. Why? You ask? I look great. Not only do I look great… I look greatly small. Really! Greatly Small.
Isn’t that…for lack of a better word…..GREAT?
No, Saintly Friend, not yet. I have THE Favourite-To-Ask…
The Sun-and-the Moon for you O’Greatly-Small Wal-Mart Shopper…
If I die this year, My Friendly Saint, will you speak at my Little-Dead-on-Party? And before you think I’m crackers…hear me out….
Remember when we were canal boating on the Llangollen Canal with The Wanker and the other couple? Quarters were close. We slept on
19-inch wide total body numbing boards. Not you and I sleeping together. But, same room. Remember? And, we all shared the loo. Not as in loo togetherness but as in only one loo…and…I saw you in your boxers, without a shirt after your shower…and didn’t scream. You told me then, “But The Wife screams when she sees me sans shirt, and in boxers.” And, to my benefit, I didn’t scream. You owe me for that non-screaming moment.
Remember The Waiter in Normandy who wanted to kill you because you kept asking him stupid menu questions in “fake” French? Remember that?
I saved your life by telling The Waiter in “real” French, “He’s difficult and crazy and the rest of us hate him.” Remember when The Waiter smiled and put the knife back on the table? You owe me really Big Time for that one!
What about all the lunches you paid for just to listen to me snivel and whine when The Wanker did his Leave-Me Dance? Oh, right…that’s My Owe. Never mind.
Here’s my idea for your Saintly Speech…keep it short and simple but please mention how and when we became best friends: Flying to London and you…YOU forgot your passport. Noticed it missing…WHEN? At the airport Check-In counter two hours before boarding. That superior brain-fart should have ended our precious friendship, and I am and will be forever grateful that it didn’t.
Also, say something along the usual lines of: She came, she saw, conquered her fears, played one heck of a piano, loved her kids, grand kids, friends, etc. etc. You know the usual stuff. I’ll leave it up to you to put everything in their correct order. Oh, add dog, cats, and that I always wanted to be A Star…and became one in spite of…mostly myself.
Order take-away food…and please, don’t forget the wedding cake: white cake, raspberry filling with lots of white icing…and the Mariachi band. Your Saintly Speech would be a tribute made by you, but scripted by me to our Friendship…lo these many years.
So…are we clear on your speech duties at my Little-Dead-on-Party should I unexpectedly wing my ghostly, ghastly way back to Wal-Mart wanting to delight my pant or sans pant soul forever-more in Greatly small surroundings?
Too much to ask?
I can’t ask this Favourite of just anyone can I?
Has to be someone Special.
In my eyes.
You know you are absolutely crackers.
Absolutely…but in a Greatly Small kind-of-crackers way. You think?