I am feeling quite fabulous today. Even though yesterday was a bust with mean customers tormenting me all day long.
But they can't get me down. Not even mean old Mrs. Lewis who comes in like all the other mean old white ladies with her fat black woman helper who has to cater to her every whim. Even though she basically said I was stupid.
And, even though one lady said "why don't you have what I need, little girl?"
And, the other lady said "I hate being this size!" And, I said, "don't feel bad, we're the same size." And she said, "I just hate being this fat. It's so gross!"
Not even the one who said, "No kids? Well, aren't you blessed!"
And why can't they get me down? Because I get to see one of my best friends this weekend! And, her mom, too.
We're heading to Dallas to meet up with my friend Anna and her mom, Diane, and I could not be happier.
We've been through so much together, me and Anna. We arrived in Italy a few days apart from the same place, but we didn't know each other there. So we immediately had a connection -- and in our four years in Italy we went through a hell of a lot of shit together -- deaths of friends, her separation and almost divorce from her husband, my first failed IVF, her having cancer, my second failed IVF, my little dog Lola dying unexpectedly and a whole lot of other stuff that I can't even begin to list. We've seen each other at our best and our worst. During her biopsy surgery, where the surgeon went in under her arm, deflated her lung and grabbed a chunk of the massive tumor in her chest, I waited and worried and prayed in her hospital room and when the word came down that it was cancer, we cried together and drank margaritas and tried to make each other laugh. Scary, scary shit. She handled it all with such grace and a big dose of humor. And, eventually, she beat it. We sang, "ding dong the tumor's dead."
On the day Lola died, she got down on the bathroom floor and cried with me. That's the kind of friend she is.
She always tells people that I'm her best friend, that I helped her pee in a bed pan and that that is a sign of true love and devotion. And she's right. But, when it's my turn to tell people about her, I simply say, she is always there. There holding a broken me on the bathroom floor as I grieved. There to drive me all the way across Germany to see a fertility doctor. There to offer a hug, a glass of wine and hope after another failed attempt at conception. She is always, always, always there.
I haven't seen Anna since we said our reluctant goodbyes at the airport on the day we left Italy back in June. I cried that day, already missing my friend, already missing my home, my life back there in that beautiful place.
But life goes on. We moved on to Louisiana. She and her family are living up in North Dakota. But, as fate would have it, this week she's in Texas, fighting with the Air Force powers that be who have decided that she's not physically able to perform her job anymore and that she must get out.
But we won't worry about that fight this weekend. And we won't worry about embryos or sperm counts or tumors or clots. We'll just enjoy being together again and we'll laugh and we'll remember all the reasons why we're friends. Because let me tell you, there were a lot of bad times over there but there were far more good times.