Monday, November 23, 2009

What kind of friend are you?

I had a startling revelation this weekend as I sat underneath a tree next to my friend, Vonda, watching a men's slow pitch softball tournament. As I sat underneath the before mentioned tree, trying to show interest in a game that was about as exciting as a pack of racing turtles (no offense to turtle racing fans out there), my revelation was not that there was possibly a sport less interesting to watch than golf (no apologies to golfers out there), but that I'm not a very good friend. As Vonda was talking/flirting with one of the cute softball players I was gratefully distracted by a blackbird high up in the branches above us. This little blackbird was furious at us for some unknown reason, he made his displeasure known as he swore at us in birdy language (I will not begin to repeat what he said as this is a wholesome family blog). It could possibly be my loud snoring or perhaps Vonda's giggles as she continued her attentions towards the cute softball player that put this little fella out of sorts. I contemplated throwing Vonda's car keys at the bird but the prospect of having to climb a tree in my cowboy boots (because you know the keys would get stuck in the branches) while three fields of softball players watched in awe at my tree climbing ability didn't seem like it would be worth the trouble to shut the bird up.
As he perched in the branches above Vonda's head I had humorous thought, which I vocally shared with Vonda, that there was a very good chance that that little blackbird was going to poop on her head. We both had a good laugh over that, my laugh was hearty and Vonda's was a little nervous as she inched her way out from under the branch that the little bird was sitting on.
This is where "I'm not a good friend" comes in to play. You see, in the event that the bird did poop on Vonda's head, a good friend would try to distract the cute softball player so he wouldn't notice the white speckled nastiness as it dripped from her hair onto the tip of her nose. A good friend would scream because "something" just bit her. A good friend would fall into a fit of convulsions so all attention was on her. A good friend would point and yell "Look! There's a naked girl running across the field" or heck, a really good friend would be that naked girl running across the field (though that might not be a well planned out distraction, it could quickly backfire into a night in jail and a story that would be really hard to explain to your husband) just so the cute softball player would look in a different direction while Vonda quickly (and miraculously) solves the bird poop problem. As I played multiple scenarios in my head, each one ending with me being Vonda's hero (and possibly making my depute on COPS) as she and the cute softball player ride off into the sunset on a white steed, a smile crossed my face at the thought of a bird pooping on her. I couldn't stop smiling and occasionally laughing at the thought, which made the cute softball player think he was the funniest guy around (he was funny and really nice).
It was during this train of thought, I realized that I would not distract the cute softball guy in the event of a bird poop incident. I would laugh, I possibly would run onto the softball field in the middle of the game and entertain the whole team with the story of The Blackbirds Revenge. The team would start laughing but amidst all that male laughter would be my high pitched squeal, rising up higher and louder than the rest. What the heck is wrong with me? Why would I take so much pleasure in a little poop and humiliation? I've always been this way, ask anyone who's been my friend for more that 5 minutes. Not one friend can recall a time where I faked a seizure to spare them, my sister most of all can tell story after story as the memory of my laughter echoes in her scarred ears.
I'm just really glad that the bird didn't do anything I might regret because it's a long walk from where we were to where we were going and it would have been horrible for Vonda to have to walk home because I didn't want bird poop to get in her car, gross. I guess I am a good friend.


Athena said...

you know if that happened to you, I would do that samething that i did when a bird crapped on craig Chaputs head. I would be laughing and rowling on the ground.

hil said...

first of all, you and Vonda are a force of beauty to be reckoned with! if you weren't married, you guys could take this country of bachelors by storm. but, since you are taken, that is a dream to put away. that said, i think Vonda is so beautiful that no man would even care that there was poop in her hair. even if it were her own poop. he'd probably be thrilled at the opportunity to come to her rescue. and sometimes you need a friend who will laugh at you and keep you grounded as you're being carried off into the sunset by mysterious and funny baseball players.