There’s something lovely about having a friend with whom the majority of the relationship is spent talking on the phone together. Inevitably, both parties end up revealing a ridiculous amount of information that no one should ever have to hear, and that any rational person would be embarrassed to discuss face to face.
Our friendship is no exception; and is doubly bonded by our shared penchant for shameful food moments’. And we do it free of judgment, because, when the chips are down, there’s a little Mother Theresa in both of us.
When Sam ate that lollipop that she had stuck to roof of her car, Allana was instantly able to justify it as a sugar low’. And when Allana stripped an entire rotisserie chicken down to its carcass and shoved it into her pie hole, Sam was expertly able to pass it off as “extra fat needed for the survival of your breast feeding child”.
Listen, everyone knows that it was a mistake for Sam to hoard a huge testicle from the genitalia cake given to her husband on his birthday, but only Allana truly understood. One would have thought that the black licorice pubes would have turned her off but it really only validated her original decision to hide in the bathroom with it so that she could eat her gonad undisturbed.
And when Allana ate a chocolate bar that had been in the bottom of her diaper bag for so long that it had not only absorbed its wrapper but all the garbage from the bottom of the bag as well, Sam considered telling Allana that chocolate bar wrappers are technically inedible’ and that ingesting one could cause her to grow a third breast, but she held back. Why? Because it sounded like Allana really needed that 3 Musketeers. And that’s what friends are for.
But friends also have to be friends, and sometimes that means having the difficult conversations that no one wants to have. About nutrition. And modeling good behavior for our children. And the impropriety of eating balls for dinner.
So in the spirit of friendship and honesty and, let’s face it, scurvy avoidance, I think we need to talk.
I want you to know that you can still always tell me your disgusting food stories. And I will always cherish our friendship despite the fact that I’ve seen you casually eat a falafel that fell on the soiled streets of Manhattan. I just think you need to admit that when you purchase organic baby food from Whole Foods that you’re really shopping for dinner for yourself. Get your own meals.
Also, and I say this with love, please stop eating random dry goods for dinner. You can’t eat couscous without cooking it, ok? Boxes of Ritz Crackers? Rice Krispies? Are you still in college? Get your hand out of the cereal box. Why not just have a paper bag full of dry insect legs for dinner? It would contain more protein.
And please, promise you’ll never tell me why you celebrated your husband’s birthday with an erotic cake.
Love, Your Friend,
I love you. Thanks for your honesty. Funny you bring up eating my baby’s food. I was thinking of suggesting that you start putting your dinner on a plate instead of using the baby’s Bunnykin bowl. Dividing your two meals by a wall of barbecued asparagus doesn’t solve the issue or make it fancy. And I honor your sense of play, but filling your water bottle with chardonnay and sipping it through a plastic straw just makes you look like a blonder version of Harvey Levin from TMZ.
Thanks for reminding me to order that giant vulva cake for your wedding anniversary party. It’s kind of like a venus fly trap, only pink, and with a cute swedish berry as the clitoris. I hope your nana likes it.
Love, Your Friend,