Date: 2009-01-08 16:42 Subject: Frenemy Security: Public Location: College Town Mood: With a Migraine Music: Duffy Warwick Avenue Tags: dinner, enemy, friendship, mini inquisitor, trouble

Have you ever heard of that? A friend who's actually an enemy but you don't realize it because that person is supposed to be your friend. They say keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Some time back my mother told me that I care more about all my friends than they care for me. I didn't believe her. I didn't want to believe her. However, today, I believe her.

Today I recieved a text message: I need to go to Target after work, are you ok with pushing dinner to 7? I proably won't tell Ally so we aren't waiting on her.

I should mention dinner plans were originally set for five thirty this evening. I can see me being ten minutes late, maybe fifteen if I get lost, but an hour and a half? That's out of the realm of reason and it's unreasonable of her to say something like that. Even if it was a mistake I saw the text in the first place.

Immediately I recieved a second text from her: Lol, that was horrible! You know we love you! (Insert sad smile face here. It's enough I did her lolling, okay? I'm trying to be accurate!)

How does one to respond to this? I tried to be nice. This is what I said: You're right. Sometimes I do run late. I don't feel up to dinner. Maybe some other time?

A nice response right? I certainly thought so and I left the matter alone. I'm trying not to be mean, but the truth is my feelings were hurt. I'm not perfect. I do run late sometimes, especially when downtown amongst the maze of one streets and no parking. I don't mean to, honest! It just seems to happen, especially when I'm trying my hardest to be early. If it's the end of the world, I'll be there on time. If you need picked up at the airport, I will be there thirty minutes early just in case your plane arrives early thanks to the miracle known as tail winds. Tell me dinner starts at six, I'll be there within fifteen minutes. It's not perfect, but when you need me to be there I will be. When you want me to be there, I'll make it, eventually. It's the difference between want and need.

What hurts is that not even six months ago I dropped off chicken soup and her favorite flavor of gatorade when she was sick. When her car broke down and she called me to ask for a ride to work, I rushed across the twenty minutes to her side of town and got us both to work on time.

Later this afternoon, I recieved yet another text: You're cancelling? I know that what I said was hurtful and I feel terrible about it. It that's why you don't want to come, please reconsider! I was really looking forward to seeing you! I need my Ally fix!

To that, I don't have a response. There's roughly two hours between now and when the new dinner time would be, which I don't really want to go to. It's been months since I've seen the little group she's gathered for my homecoming dinner and the guest of honor is going to skip it all out of hurt feelings. This feels like catholic school all over again and I have to remind myself that I'm not an awkward ugly duckling who'd rather bury her nose in a book because talking to other kids about how much Jane Eyre loved Mr. Rochester and the burning of the house down is just symbolism of his life or his soul. I'm not the ugly duckling with glasses, braces, and bangs in a hideous catholic school uniform. I am a well dressed and polished adult with a quick wit, bright hazel eyes, and even if I'm still awkward it is seamlessly covered with a pretty smile thanks to years of braces. That leaves me with a predicament. Do I go? I don't want to. I mean, I really don't want to. I'd rather swim in a pool full of scissors or give blood or go to the tanning booth and all of those options are excruciating. Actually, I don't really know about the first one. I'm speculating on the scissors. I guess if we found the kiddle scissors that only cut paper it would just be weird, not painful, but the giving blood and tanning thing is a personal experience. Needles and blisters are not what I would call fun and I have a morbid sense of fun. The nice person in me has already forgiven her and would like to just carry on as if nothing happened. Except, the nice person in me had her tender hearted feelings hurt which awakens the mean part of me. The mean part of me would like to jab her with a rusty spoon and risk lock jaw to make a point. I'm going to need a spoon, to start, and maybe some concrete to scrape it along or one of those sink eaters that will gargle the spoon for a bit and leave it looking busted like the ladies of the night on fourth street here in College Town. Add salt water for oxidation and in a few weeks, I'll have the proper utensil in the proper condition for aforementioned jabbing. Unfortunately, the timeline for that ingenious plan is a little lengthy for my current need. Which still leaves me with my predicament.

This seems petty.

Okay, I have a plan. I'm going to dinner tonight and see who she has gathered up for this particular evening. Let everyone know I'm town, I'd love to see them, and from there limit my time spent with the frenemy texter.

I didn't want to believe that I cared more about everyone in my life than they deign to care for me. I suppose it's entirely true.

That Sucks,
Ally