Twister and Crisco Oil

I have the most amazing and wonderful friends - if only for the fodder that their inane behavior and insanity provides . . . Remember Edith, my Famous Fag Hag Friend, from both my Disney past and my church past? She's baaack!

Edith was coming back to town for the Father's Day weekend. So was Anna, our mutual friend from our show choir days at a local junior college (the older, legal age version of 'glee'). They asked me to cajole Fabulous Friend Eddie into a small reunion, to reunite our original warped and dysfunctional foursome.

Eddie was not available. Honestly, I don't think he was that heartbroken about it. The three of us still talked about him, though, over appetizers and drinks.

"Remember the time Eddie took me to the 24 hour supermarket late at night?" Edith asked. "I've told you this story a hundred times!"

Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. "Refresh my memory," I prompted.

"It was just the two of us," Edith continued, a giggly grin stretched across her face, "and he bought three items: a game of Twister, some Crisco Oil, and a box of condoms - just to see the look on the checkout girl's face."

I fell over on my side of the restaurant booth in exaggerated laughter. "No, you never told me that before! I would remember something like that. Can I post that as my facebook status tonight?"

I did post it, but I was careful to use only Eddie's initials, rather than tagging him in the statement with an '@' symbol before his name. I called him today.

"Edith is crazy," I informed him, as if this were new information to him. "She's fucking crazy!"

Eddie set the record straight. "I never did that. I only talked about doing it, how funny it would be to go into a store and buy those things."

That sounded accurate. I told him so. "Yeah, it sounded a little fishy," I said. This was in the 80's, and we were all working at Disneyland? I know what we made.

"I didn't think you would have wasted money on a stunt like that, even just for the shock value."

I was glad I called Eddie. I thanked him for confirming my suspicion about Edith: that she twists the memories of our shared past into much different versions than what we remember.

"Maybe we should give her a break," I suggested. "She told us how she had been on Percocet after throwing her lower back out. It made her crazy and she told us about how she had to wean herself off of it.

"Maybe the medication affected her memory of things. Who knows? She still swears that I went around telling everyone at church that she was my ex-girlfriend - in order to make my desired image as a heterosexual more plausible."

I'm a little crazy, I don't mind admitting, but I have never been that fucking crazy, even back then!

If I ever get off my lazy butt enough to become a published novelist some day, one of my book titles is going to be Christian Fag Hag.