Friday Night

So it’s Friday night, sprawled on my bed watching a stupid bridal show and talking to my best friend Sheena.  We are commenting on the brides.  I have a pot belly, having just finished four slices of pizza and a glass of wine.

“What’s she thinking?  She’s way to lumpy for that dress,” spits out Sheena

“She’s gonna buy it,” I say with satisfaction, Sheena cackles, “so stupid. “  I agree.  I cast an eye over at my seven year old daughter, who is gyrating furiously to a Hannah Montana song. God I’m tired.

“I’m gonna sleep so good tonight,” I inform Sheena.  “I’m so excited!”

“Why,” she asks, barely masking her disinterest.

“To sleep you idiot,” I yawn into the phone.  I live on the edge.

“Oh yeah, me too.  What did u eat for dinner?”  she asks, for lack of anything else to say.  We’ve been on the phone for an hour now and this is the highlight.

“Pizza and wine, you?”

“Beer and wings,” she burps gently into the phone to illustrate.

“We’re perfect for each other, too bad we’re not gay,” I say regretfully.

“Doesn’t matter, we could still get married, how many married couples you know actually have sex?”  as always, she makes an excellent point. 

“And besides, I could adopt Ana,” she continues, I ponder this.  “I can drop her to school, help her with her homework, we’ll do our nails every weekend…..” 

“You can’t, her dad,” I feel bad for throwing a wrench into her future.

“If he dies I could,” we are both silent as we digest this.

“But Ana would miss her dad,” I venture.

“Yeh, I guess.”

“Yeh.” 

We both watch from our respective homes as another bride lacking in taste struggles into a dress. 

“Where’s Brandon?”  she asks referring to my boyfriend.

“Dunno, meditating?” Brandon is on the search for inner enlightenment.  I am on the search for the perfect shade of pink lipstick.  Shallow?

“We should learn from him,” she throws out, with no intention of actually learning from him.

“Ummhmm,”  I say.  I secretly think Sheena and I suffer from ADD.  We are unable to focus on anything for more than 10 minutes at a time.  Much less meditate for an hour. 

“Did you see that picture I sent to you?”  I ask her.

“The one you took of yourself pouting on the bed?”  she confirms, unimpressed.

“Yeh, Brandon says I look like a man in that pic!!!”  the audacity of the man.

“Well u kinda do, your cheekbones are kinda drastic,” Sheena isn’t anything if not honest.

“That’s what he said!”  I sputter.

“Well he’s right, you want me to lie to you?” 
“You guys can both fak off,” I mumble half heartedly.

“At least you didn post on facebook,” she points out helpfully.

“I guess.”

“Yeh, next time you wanna send a sexy pic to your man, run it by me first,” she adds bossily.

“Will do,” I sigh, browbeaten.

“Good, bedtime now, call you in the morning, nite,” she blows a kiss into the phone.

“Nite mama,” I flop over and look at my daughter who is beadily staring at me, thumb in mouth.

Bedtime.