11/21/2010 5:16 PM
I have, as yet, no idea what the story is here, but let me say this: not one of these things alone was enough to surprise me, as each and every one has happened to my bestie at least once before.
Let us examine the following:
The staying-up-so-late-other-people-are-eating-lunch-when-you-finally-get-home phenomenon is nothing new for us. Perhaps my favorite example (and maybe it doesn't entirely qualify since there is some sleeping involved) is the time in high school my bestie and I were hanging out at our good friend Glenn's house into the wee hours of the morning. We had been playing ping pong and foosball all night, and then decided it would be a good idea, sometime around 3 am, to pop in a movie. We all fell asleep. I'm not talking dozing, here, either. My bestie and I were out cold. In a boy's basement. With our parents under the impression that we had retired for the night and were sleeping soundly somewhere other than a couch shared with a member of the opposite sex. We awoke a little after 7 to the sound of laughter. Glenn's dad had come downstairs to get something and found us all fast asleep and, thankfully, got a kick out of it. My bestie and I jumped into my truck and booked it back to my house, where we managed to run unnoticed to my room and climb into bed and fall back asleep, our mothers assuming we'd been there all along.
My bestie has often had to make do on foot, as she didn't get her license until age 19 and, since then, her driving privileges have often been suspended. Once, we got into a fight in the middle of the night at my house and she waited until I was brushing my teeth and then, still fuming, took off. She walked the couple of miles between our houses alone, past midnight, and without a charged cell phone or a key back into her place. Once home, she climbed in the garage window, found the camping supplies, and settled into a sleeping bag for the night. Her mom came out the next morning to grab snacks from the locked cabinet (her mom keeps junk food in a metal locker in the garage, due to my bestie's tendency to eat it all within the first four minutes of its arrival) and found her curled up on the floor. She later claimed it was the best night's sleep of her life.
My bestie has a tendency to befriend strange people, and has previously counted two hobos among her conquests. One, a friendly neighborhood drifter, offered to carry her groceries in the basket on his bike. Once, however, he began asking, persistently, for her phone number, she panicked, gave him her roommate's phone number instead, and then, realizing that she didn't want him to know where she lived, stopped in front of a random house, pretending it was her own, and thanked the man for his help. The other hobo, Stan, can rightfully claim to be the largest contributor to my bestie's knowledge of prostate cancer. Way to spread the word, Stan.
My bestie is a forger by nature. Nearly every week in high school she had a note from her "mom" excusing her for her absence in class the day before. Once we turned 18, however, she had bigger forging fish to fry. We both voted on the first set of ballot measures we could that year, and both got letters back telling us that the signatures on our ballots did not match the signature we'd used when we'd registered to vote. My letter was mostly polite, and asked that I please return a new copy of my updated signature, or my vote may not count. Her letter, however, flat-out accused her of forgery, and outlined the (rather lengthy) list of federal offenses she had committed and the maximum fines and penalties that she would incur unless she could prove that it was her signature. Part of me wonders if the people in charge of sending those letters had pulled up her high school file and pegged her as a repeat offender. For the record, neither of us ever answered the accusations and, as far as I know, are still in good standing with the law.
I don't actually believe that her feet have never been dirtier.
1) The girl has never shown any concern for podiatric hygiene.
2)
