Has this happened to you? You're trying to explain to a non-blogger (much less a non-knitter) where you got your beautiful bootie yarn, or or about why you're suddenly so into camels, or the crazy coincidence of just having bought a new kind of ice cream for your sister and then later that same day reading about how it goes much better with biscuits...and you come up against that wall of a phrase, "This friend I met on the Internet." And then they look at you and they imagine a seedy motel in Paducah, where that video store clerk you met online awaits with a bottle of cheap bubbly for you to leave your husband and children and Away With Him to a new and exciting life. "This friend I met on the Internet." Hello? Lifetime Televison? I've got a movie pitch for you.
My most recent encounter with this phenomenon came when I went to visit my sister in the hospital and brought her (as all new mothers should be brought) some fancy soap for her first postpartum shower. Jess loved it and took in all its herby goodness and the sweet owl on the wrapper with appreciation as I hemmed and hawed away about how it was made by this woman I know, well, from the Internet, well, I met her through the blog, and she makes this incredible soap, and she's a knitter, but I've never really met her, just through the Internet, and well... And finally it hit me. Why the heck was I putting myself through all of this when I could just say, "A friend of mine made it"? So that's what I did.
And my friend Maryse just gave me my new favorite word. And my friend Cathi (a MILF indeed) sent me a link to Tori Amos's new video, because she knew how much I needed it. And my friend Ashley introduced me to the phrase, "heteronormative gender fascists" which I think would make a great band name. And the talented Maritza tagged me with a Thinking Blogger Award to pass on. And that's just to name a few. Friend, friend, friend. Say it with me now, and drop the whole "Internet" thing. Don't it feel good?
And I really needed my friends this week- even if they didn't know it. On top of the heartbreak in Blacksburg, we had difficult news from my doctor about the Fricklet, which resulted in some scary tests (needles as long as your arm!), much loss of sleep, and a wait that, had it been minutes instead of days, would still have been too long. Yesterday we found out that all is well. Just another case of modern medicine's commitment to giving every woman in the world an anxiety disorder.
Tonight I plan to retreat to the bath to soak off the tears and sighs and pains of this week and replace them with lavender and rose petals and skin-softening oatmealy goodness. Megan, take me away!
Thanks, friends, for keeping me afloat.