BFF: a comedy in two acts


By the time Stacie, Chele and I pile into the car to hit Chipotle before True Blood comes on, I've made at least three cracks about Stacie and tried to put her in a headlock while she ran around the living room. ("Get off me!" she yelled. "It's like you're a weak midget trying to bring me down!")

As the car backs down the driveway, I say, "You know, I was thinking this week about how I try to be nice to everyone -"

"Whatever - you're not nice to me!" Stacie retorts.

"That's what I'm saying," I continue. "I try to be nice to everyone, but there are only a select few people I'm mean to. That's how you know I like you."

Amazingly, no one compares me to a 12-year-old boy.



True Blood has become a Sunday ritual at the McKissick home, and besides Chele, Stacie, and myself, three people show up this week for our regularly scheduled dose of camp and gore: Corrie, Alicia, and Cati. Cati brings with her a bag of produce she picked up for me at the farmer's market (including a cantaloupe that I've dubbed "the magic melon." It is seriously the listening-to-the-Shins-in-a-doctor's-office-waiting-room of fruit), and I exclaim over its delights before the show.

After the show and a few comments on how our old friends Anna Paquin's breasts are back after a short hiatus, we rise to leave. I ready my farmer's market bag for departure.

We're chatting just inside the door when Stacie looks at me and says, "Did you forget your farmer's market bag?"

I did! I race to the kitchen for it, and when I return, Corrie is exclaiming, "How did you know that, Stacie?"

"Corrie," she replies, "Kelly and I have been friends since junior high. I just know these things."

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