I remember that I met my buddy, Torch, through a car salesman I will call Bruce, because that’s his name and I can’t think of a funny blog name for him. Before I met her, though, Bruce had committed the sin of requesting that Torch cook him a corned beef and cabbage dinner, then not showing up for it.
I accompanied Bruce to his apartment so he could change clothes for a night of car salesman carousing. He was hoping she wouldn’t murder him if he had a witness. She had stomped off when she realized her dinner would not be served hot, and her hot temper had displayed the Jigg’s Dinner all over the kitchen, and some of it even landed in the garbage. It was awesome to behold.
Bright woman that I am, I thought, here is a person that would be fun to know. And she truly was. Cute, funny, and full of fire. I’m pretty good at not pissing my friends off, so I felt no fear.
Our friendship outlasted Bruce, I’m happy to say. At one point, we shared a flat, and another time, we both had a room at my mom’s place. Mom’s husband called me “the playgirl”. What can I say? I was young and horny, and playgirl sounds way better than slut. I was such a Wild Child.
Torch was more into serial monogamy. Of the angst-filled variety. She seemed to find the slutty, cheating boyfriends. I don’t know why, because in other ways, she was way more sensible than I. Oh, wait. Anybody would have been.
Anyway, she was in a bad way at the time we stayed at Mom’s. Her big love turned out to be a turd, and they had broken up. She was having a really hard time with it.
She got her hands on some sleepy-making drug, like Xanax, and she commenced to taking LOTS of them. She was really starting to scare me, but I played along with her for a bit, hoping she would get drowsy enough for me to get her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped.
I knew she would be furious with me. Oh, yes, I did. I had seen her temper, and I had determined not to be the brunt of it.
What do you do? Lose a friendship, or lose a friend?
The fun began when I chose the former.
Imagine, with the little visual aid I have provided here, one very pissed off, not so drowsy Torch, kicking, saying very bad words, and preventing egress at doorways all the way out of the house, into the car, and to the emergency room. The image doesn’t look nearly so angry or strong. Or slippery. You see the highlighted portion I have provided? That would be a doorway. Yes, she did have four arms and four legs that night. And she used them all to prevent us from taking her to the car. If it weren’t such serious business, it would have been comedy gold.
I did all this, with the help of a boy toy, to prevent this:
Notice the doorway theme? I’m fabulous that way.
We accomplished the deed, and I went slunk home. My Mom got an angry phone call at five in the morning.
“Where’s that (VERY bad words) witchypoo?”
Mom lied for protected me. She knew I was in mortal danger until Torch had cooled down.
Me? I was cowering and snivelling in a corner, hoping Torch wouldn’t find me. Yes, I am all that.
Torch is now married to a great guy, and we laughed about how she looked as we tried to wrangle her out the door. She thanked me for saving her life, and apologized for putting me in fear of mine.
Isn’t that what friends are for?
