I’ll invariably tell my friends a somewhat unflattering story about myself, a story that will end with a witty comment my mother makes, eviscerating my unseemly behavior, and the guffaws end, my friends say, “Wow, you have a great relationship with your mother. I could never do that with my mom.”
And I always want to ask if they can’t talk about farting passing gas bodily functions, because that’s the one thing I’ve always desired in my relationship with Winifred. I’ve also desired her leniency when it came to letting me get a puppy, but she made up for her harsh, Ms. Trunchbull-like ways last year when she lovingly promised one day the Right Dog for Me would come at the Right Time. Which is better than the feeling Carrie Bradshaws of the world get when they watch a Lifetime movie and the erstwhile heroine realizes when she’s ready to quit her career The Man will Come. That was harsh, wasn’t it? That happens when I digress.
Or hang out with Winifred!
And that’s my point.
Winifred came to Collegetown this afternoon to linger the campus while I presented a four part large-scale photographically based series examining the process and psychological relationship with mortality, decay, and interpersonal relationships. When I finished my requisite hour of question answering and explaining (by the way: it was fun, exhilarating, and satisfying!) we disappeared into the city. First we went to the BMA to see its new photography exhibit. And then we slipped through rush hour traffic to Sofi’s, a crepery that has stolen my heart.
I’ve been looking forward today for months. First, because it marks the end of this seemingly infinite project. It signals the end of the class that I’ve been working in, and is the gallery opening for a piece from the series. But when I said hey, let’s hang out in those hours between my demo and the gallery opening, and Winifred said, sure thing! I knew I’d have the fun I’d been yearning for since October. Wednesday night I walked around my apartment, wondering if I ordered one sweet crepe, and Winifred ordered one savory crepe, if we could enjoy both sides of the menu and still satisfy our needs. I’m a fly by her pants kind of girl when it comes to Sofi’s, picking which side I’ll order from when I belly up to their tiny counter, impulsively picking a menu half that will satisfy my needs. Inevitably I choose the sweet side.
As we parked Winifred asked if I’d acquiesce her brilliant idea: would I mind if we ordered one of each and split both, thus getting one crepe each and the kinds we wanted?
Heck yes, I’d do that!
It was another moment in which the heavens opened and reminded me that in spite of often feeling like I spend the majority of my days explaining again what my thought process was and why it makes sense to me that no, there is someone on the same plane as I am! And better to have that person thinking about maximum crepe exposure than giant squids, right?
It's a natural change, from polite and quietly seething to the open giggling and theoretical discussions we hold. Or, even better, stories of life in North Dakota or Charlotte's college years. And when we were all done we got out of the car to say our goodbyes in front of my apartment and accidentally talked about politics for an extended period of time.
It makes sense of me to do that. To talk about politics, birth control advertisements, and why it is that McCain shouldn't be president. I think, without a family that was okay with that--an open discussion of anything, without any "reason" why--I'd be fairly miserable.
Oh! We split one chicken curry crepe (picture) and one apple crisp crepe. Real apples, people! Not canned.
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