I know this is going to be hard for some of you to believe, but I have a friend. A good one. We do friend things like not seeing or speaking to one another for months and then hanging out briefly while I’m in my pajamas working. She says pithy things and I laugh. Then I give her a giant bag of stuff my child has outgrown so she can give it to her insanely bright and beautiful youngest child. Her older child is also bright and beautiful though he’s bigger than my kid so can’t really fit into her stuff, not that he hasn’t tried on the occasion of amazing cowboy boots.
Anyway, this friend stopped by today for one of our typical exchanges and as she was pacing my living room, admiring my tree, and telling me to fix the caulking in my bathtub she dropped in a quiet comment about how we’ve been friends for 20 years and she only really got to know me on facebook.
First of all, she’s TOTALLY wrong. We’ve only known one another for 18 years (in March). Secondly, she’s totally right. She knew the 18 year old Cami who worked at a telemarketing firm and was just moving to Portland and settling in. I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last (almost) 18 years. She’s had kids. I had a kid. We’ve both been through major life changes. We’ve both made questionable choices about haircuts. Been through countless halloween costumes. Homes. Holiday decorations. You know, things and stuff.
And the reason we know all this about one another? Not our once every few month phone calls (my phone quacks like a duck when she calls. seriously). Not our occasional get togethers. Not our random texts. It’s facebook where, I thought, I go to hide.
Thank you, Tena. You know… for stalking me online as much as I stalk you.