Gal-pals are important. Female bonding is one of the most essential factors in finding and maintaining true happiness. We can’t expect most dudes to understand the depths and extent of our emotional needs, because we are hardwired differently.
I treasure my gal-pals. A good guy friend of mine, who never fails to give me a full-bellied laugh, entertained us both for a solid ten minutes, while he made fun of my collection of girlfriends. He imagined a fancy glass case, with shelves of trophies. He pretended he was me, playing with them like they were barbies. Stroking them. Talking to them. Rearranging them on the shelves…
Seriously, just had to pause for a moment to laugh out loud. I love that guy!
But it’s sort of true. My gal-pals are babes and I do adore them. Yet unfortunately, some have quirks that make me feel like I would rather stay home than take them out to play.
Before I get into the things that drive me crazy, it seems worthwhile to remind ourselves that, yes, everyone has quirks. And no, we shouldn’t hold such trivial-yet-pesky things against each other, especially when people are coming from such different places. Some people are raised in homes with strict moral values. Others, not-so-much.
It turns out, many of those habits, ingrained upon us from childhood, are tough to break.
For example, one special gal-pal of mine, has a rude little habit of talking on the phone. Indiscriminately! Yesterday, in the middle of (what I thought was) a heated conversation, this chick accepted a call from a dude (who I don’t particularly like) and went on to talk to him… about nothing in particular… for the entire duration of the car ride. My car. And for some reason I had to listen to it, and it alone, because she turned down the music volume, completely.
Lets return to yesterday, when I learned, there are some people who, as (my amazing friend and mentor) Miss Triche would say, “take me to a not good place.”
I have learned this lesson before. Some gal-pals are like weeds. You can’t get rid of them! But no matter how much you hate to admit it, no matter how much they drive you crazy when they’re around, you love them anyway. For some, years go by between us, but something always draws them back.
But this is a new girl.
When I picked her up yesterday, it had been a little while since we’d seen each other. Frankly, I thought I’d had my fill of her the last time, when we went to a nice birthday party and she spent much of the evening at the dinner table, on her phone. Not texting under the table. Talking, leaning over it. And when it came time to pay, she was short.
The money thing hasn’t gotten to me before (because I too have lived for a long time on a limited budget) but she is, often, low on cash. Although, I am rarely flush with it, I don’t hesitate to throw in an extra few bucks if someone needs it. So that’s happened… several times.
Once, when she really wanted to come to yoga with me, I helped her pay the fee. It wasn’t much, half of 20 bucks. Still, I was close to broke at the time…
Then yesterday, what did she say?
“I got six thousand.”
“Six thousand what?” I asked.
“Dollars! I’ve got six thousand dollars in my savings account,” she said with jubilee.
“Oh? Then tell me again, why did I need to give you ten bucks for yoga the other day?!” She explained to me that a savings account is different from the other account…
I know what a savings account is, honey.
We got out of the car, entered the market, bought beverages and re-entered the car.
“So, how’s Violet?” She asked, switching the subject.
I was seething. It’s a good thing we were on our way to yoga.
Did the yoga class and got back in the car… which is precisely when she got the call from that dude. I got to listen to that the entire way home, while I thought about all the things I wanted to say to this woman. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind! But I didn’t get a chance, had her home before she got off the phone.
Exiting the car, she said, “Don’t be such a stranger…. Dork.”
Which may possibly have been her way of saying, “I miss you, I know something is bothering you, but I’m don’t want to get into it, because I’m afraid it’s me.”
It’s a little sad. I don’t know how to say, “When you talk loudly about vulgar things in public, it’s embarrassing.” Or, “It kind of bothers me when you finger-bang your freaky gal-pals at the bar.”
Geeze, when I put it like that, maybe I shouldn’t even bother.