To engage in friendship is to open yourself up to the harshest form of judgment. My good friend Sars frequently harangues me for leading you to believe she is uptight and “normal.” She’s resented that label since we first met as college roommates and I mocked her for having baby blue walls and oak furniture. To make her normalness even more shocking, she managed her money, slept at night, and had a social life that didn’t involve month-long periods of locking herself away and ignoring everyone.
We were polar opposites.
But time changes everything and now I’m pretty sure she’s the weird one– while I have become the perfect embodiment of normal. Just last week she asked me the most ridiculous question ever:
“What are you doing Tuesday night?”
I’m sorry? It’s Tuesday night. I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING. Work ends at 5PM and life is basically over after that. Of course, Sars doesn’t understand this because she’s training to be a midwife and works ridiculous hours. Her weekend is any day that a baby isn’t pushing its way out a birth canal.
The thought of going out on a Tuesday frightens me. What about my bed? Will it be okay if I don’t crawl into it with my laptop at 7PM? I don’t know how to fall asleep unless I’ve spent the previous 6 hours lying under blankets with my head propped up on a minimum of six decorative pillows.
We compromised by grabbing dinner then hanging out at my house. I always enjoy spending time with Sars while she’s in town, and not just because I have so few other opportunities to use the word “vaginal” and talk about placenta and cervixes. Still, she was barely into my kitchen before she started looking around in horror. She could hardly speak, but she finally got it out.
“I’m judging you in so many ways right now.”
I Microwave Styrofoam
Everyone on Facebook also judged me for this after I posted a photo of my numerous failed attempts to microwave almond milk. Apparently this is the fastest way to mutate seemingly innocuous things like cups into vehicles of doom that will make my future babies come out with ten arms.
I Line My Crockpot With Death
I’m sorry, I totally get that these things leach chemicals into my sweet potatoes, but I consider this innovation to be right up there with birth control—it allows me to enjoy something wonderful without having to deal with the messy and inconvenient consequences of that enjoyment.
I Eat The Same Thing Everyday
I buy and prepare a week’s worth of food every Sunday so that I don’t have to think about it the rest of the week. Sars tells me that variety is the spice of life but I find it incredibly inconvenient to continuously figure out what to eat all the time. I’ll take variety for 4 of the 28 meals I consume per week and just eat the same damn thing every other day. If you open my refrigerator, it looks like I have OCD because the food is separated by daily portion and laid out in the order I eat it. I have to automate as much of my life as possible so I can focus mental energy on having meltdowns.
My Trash Smells Like A Massacre
My trend of laziness extends to the chore of rolling the trash to the curb. I only do this once a month when the thing gets full– Because trash cans are disgusting. Unfortunately, I threw out some chicken breast on Monday afternoon so by the time Sars showed up the side of my house smelled like death. At least any potential stalkers will likely conclude that I murdered the last person to mess with me.
I Use Chemical Death Products
Sars needed a shower after residing in my house of environmental debauchery, so I pointed out the towels and apologized for my near-empty bottle of shampoo. She scoffed at the mere suggestion of using such toxic sludge, because she washes herself with bone marrow from fairies that died of natural causes.
I Don’t Have a Shaman or Healing Crystals
I very rarely take medicine but I do have a cabinet full of stuff other people have purchased for me. I mentioned that I could feel the slight edge of a sore throat developing but was afraid to open the medicine cabinet because the last time I thought I took Mucinex, I actually ingested some massive cough suppressant/tranquilizer that led to some really weird Facebook chats. “I wish I had some thieves oil I could dab on your throat,” she said, “that would clear it right up.” I didn’t want to question her voodoo, but I have a hard time understanding how the distilled bodies of criminals could help my allergy symptoms.
I Have A Keurig Within Arms Reach of My Bed
I prefer to think this makes me a self-actualized genius, but apparently I’m contributing to the death of our planet by producing such an incredible amount of trash. I do my best to recycle and buy sustainably sourced products but how can I say no to a magical machine that creates coffee without me having to do anything more than roll over and push a button?
Sars was horrified when she saw it.
“What happened to the Aussa who kept a kettle, coffee grinder, and French press in her office?”
I gestured back at the keurig.
“I’m happy now.”
She rolled her eyes but eventually managed to fall asleep in my den of waste. Wednesday morning dawned bright and early, provoking mutual groans as we cursed its cruelty. I rolled over, pressed a button, and was able to hand her a hot cup of coffee within a minute. Her eyes widened as she took in the aroma and pushed herself up against a stack of pillows. She held the mug to her lips.
“I take it all back… this is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
Do you relate to any of these guilty charges? What do YOU do that’s worthy of judgment? Have you judged a friend for how they choose to live their life?
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