The Ron to My Barcardi

I opened my mailbox today, and got a letter from my friend, Jamie. Inside was a picture of our two sons, hiding under a slide. She wrote, "I'm pretty sure they were up to something..."

If anybody would know, it would be her.

I've known Jamie for almost five years now. I wouldn't say she's my BFF, because I don't say things like "BFF."  If I started talking like that, I think she would cut me.

Instead, I will simply say this: She is the chip to my queso, the Ron to my Barcardi, and the George to my Wheezy. I am my funniest, my kindest, and my most real self when we're together.

Jamie is from Pittsburgh, and is thus bilingual: "Hey, yinz jags goin' dahn a' Mon n'at? Jeet jet? Wanna ahrn and sum chip chop ham?"  I have no idea what the hell that means, but if I ever make it to Pittsburgh, she's coming with me. The place is clearly bursting with Steelers fans and lunatics. Perhaps that's redundant. 

Jamie has used her natural charms and talent for years. Before I knew her, she traveled extensively. She sang "Danny Boy" on stage in Galloway, Ireland. The patrons threw garbage at her. While living in Hawaii, she swallowed an entire squid whole to prove that white girls can swallow disgusting things, too. (Wait--that came out wrong.)

When she inexplicably took piano as an elective in college, she could never figure out how to read music. So, she did not turn on her electric piano during class. Thus, an always flawless performance. On the days of performance tests, she would go to class early and make small marks on the teacher's piano so she would know where to put her fingers.

My dear friend is working on becoming the Angelina Jolie of our local county. She is (so far)  the mother of three. Their most recent edition is a five-year old boy adopted from China. He has some serious bowel issues, and presently has a ileostomy bag. She is considering getting family T-shirts that say "Shit happens." Or, if that doesn't work, she may just pawn off their incontinent, fifteen year old dog as his "Service Animal." This puts all the poop issues in one place---the public schools, of course. 

Actually, Jamie is a dedicated public school employee. After teaching elementary special education for years, she has recently moved to high school. She explained, "One difference between teaching elementary school & high school... I now have to monitor my words in vain attempts to avoid the retort: "That's what she said..." 

Jamie's life is crazy busy--three kids, full-time work, the incontinent dog, soccer practice, volunteer work, and oh yes, the training for her first 5K. Her long-time friend, upon hearing that Jamie had decided to take this on, stated "I would expect you to say you were going to a Plushie convention before hearing you would do a 5K." 

Despite all that is on her plate, she still invites me to her table. Quite literally. The girl is always feeding me. I've shared Easter dinners and Christmas Eve suppers with her family. She is the one that organizes brunch, cookouts, and picnics. There is always room for more. She even makes her special jug-wine and fruit cocktail sangria. Just for me.

My friend is not a huggy, let's-talk-about-our feelings kinda gal. But I know, as I know that I am sitting at my table right now, that she loves me and I love her. I know that in this life, there are few people that make you a better person. 

And she is one of them. That I know for sure. 

This is an entry for the World's Greatest BFF Contest hosted by Friends You Love.