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Personal blog of christian
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Bottom-Line FriendshipAfter a three-hour long lunch, Terri and I sat in adjoining bathroom stalls in Applebee's, still chatting before we hopped in our cars and went our separate ways--or so we thought.We've only been friends a short while, since she was 13 and I was 17. So, while we've become quite close, there are still a few things we haven't shared. At least not in a public bathroom. Until now. Terri turned on the water, gabbing away, and I'm thinking she was as surprised as I when suddenly I screamed out in pain. "Aaaa-aaaaa-AAAAAAA!!" "What? What? WHAT?" she screamed back. "I can't MOVE!! It hurts so BAD!!!" "What hurts? What's wrong?" I gotta tell you, this girl's been around the block with me more than once. She knows I'm a drama queen, yes. But she also knows I have a knack for contracting some of the most exotic diseases and bizarre conditions known to womankind. Let's just say when I shriek, she doesn't yawn. "Lower left quadrant," I gasp. "It's HORRIBLE! I can't stand up..." "Unlock the door in case I need to come in there," she said. Now this is where things started to get dicey, at least in my weird mind. I really don't like chicks with me in the bathroom, especially when I can't stand up and I'm screaming and my granny panties are down around my ankles. I looked at the stall door, which ends about six inches from the floor, and realized that it would be completely unfair to refuse to unlock the door because of nutty hang-ups. What did I plan to do? Pass out from the pain and expect Terri to worm her way under the door with me blocking it? I reached up and unlocked the door. She was nice enough not to barge in until things got even more desperate, affording me another full fifteen seconds of dignity. I managed to get my unders pulled up, which is the nice thing about elastic-waisted garments, isn't it? Even if you yourself can't, technically, stand up, you can still finagle those puppies into place. I breathed a sigh of relief. I might have to be hauled out of there half naked, I thought, but I've done worse. (Don't ask.) "Terri, I can't get my jeans up, because I can't stand up." "Should I call Doug?" Did she think he could pull my jeans up? Because, honestly, he's not very good at stuff like that. "AAAAA! Aaaaaa....AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" "Should I call an ambulance?" I had to get out of that bathroom. I was dripping sweat and my mouth had gone completely dry. I hadn't started hyperventilating yet, though, so there was still hope. "Give me your pants," I said. "Now. I'm dying here, Terri. I've got to have your pants." "What? My pants? What will I do?" When you've been friends as long as Terri and I have been, that last question--while entertaining--really isn't useful. It doesn't matter what one of us will do, if the other one is in need. She'd end up giving me her pants, and she knew it. "I can pull your pants up on me, because they have elastic," I said. "You can wear my jeans..." I started to fade then. The pain had its way with me, and I remember little after that. Somehow, she got out of her pants, got me out of mine, got my feet into hers, and got herself into my jeans. I remember hearing her mutter to herself, "It's OK. It's fine. We can do this. OK, now. Everything's fine..." Then I heard her say, "I'm gonna pray for you." And she prayed out loud, and while the pain didn't go away, I felt a comfort descend upon both of us, right there, right then. The next thing I knew, I was pulling those glorious elastic-waisted jogging pants up over my granny panties and gingerly making my way toward the bathroom door. We left my car there in the parking lot and Terri drove me home. I don't remember the ride, just the feeling of the friendship. Just the wonderful feeling you have when you know that there's someone in the world who would do pretty much anything for you, and even refrain from laughing her head off at your weirdness. Someone who will give you the clothes off her rear end if you ask for them, who will pray you through your most embarassing moments in public places, proving to you once again that Jesus is truly Lord of everything. He's even Lord of the Pants.
Posted by Katy on 04/06/05 at 09:38 PM
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