As Robby informed a newcomer last week, “don’t mind Megan, she’s overbearing.”
(At first, I included an ellipsis before overbearing but I was just kidding myself, there was no real life pause.)
(The truth hurts.)
(And is, in my opinion, not very truthful.)
(It’s called being friendly to newcomers, Robby.)
(And only like 13% overbearing.)
I’m known for few things amongst my high school friends.
Being dreadful at gift exchanges.
Forgetting to invite people to my New Year’s party until the end of December.
But I’m trying to expand that repertoire.
I’m starting small.
Tackling friends small.
It doesn’t take much to tackle.
Just a strong desire for photos and a dream.
And a victim.
Or, as I prefer to call them, an old high school friend.
(My friends put up with a lot.)
(But once a year they have a 50/50 chance I’ll remember to send them a birthday e-card.)
(So… pretty worth it.)
The most important thing to remember while tackling is to never let the tacklee know what’s coming.
And to plant your feet.
‘Cause falling always takes away from the majesty of the moment.
In lieu of stability, I provide laughter.
And far too-tight middle squeezes.
Those aren’t necessarily a plus.
But once you’ve been tackled, you have to work with what you’ve been given.
And sometimes, when one friend loves the other friend very much and the latter friend is too nice to violently wrest herself away from the first friend, then tackling turns into puppetry.
‘Cause I know how to party.
And I’m not strong on when to stop.
I have a sudden craving for cheese
Which is completely unrelated to anything,