I’m a good friend. I think. I’m pretty sure my friends would back me up on that. If nothing else, I’m an honest friend. Though I’m not going to take it upon myself to tell a girl her lip injections may be slightly overdone. Because that’s a choice of personal preference. Girlfriend has eyes, and she can see. And if that shit makes her giddy with the I’ma-hot-mama mojo, well then… you work it,
Daisy Duck my friend. Life is a short road to travel. We should all be quacktacularly happy if we want to be.
But as a good friend, I feel like it’s my responsibility to have my chicas’ backs. If your pesto lunch has left you with a green confetti grin, I’m going to give you the heads-up. If you’ve got a boog peeking out, I’m going to make fun of you and post pics on Instagram. Just kidding… I’ll let you know you need a booger-check. I’m just a giver like that.
It’s easy to have your girlfriend’s back when the situation is less, shall we say, scandalous. Several years back, I found myself in a predicament. You know as parents, sometimes we’re put in situations where we find ourselves in pseudo friendships with our children’s parents. These may or may not be people with whom you’d normally choose to hang out. I’ve been super fortunate over the years to have made some great friends through my kids. However there have been the handful that just don’t work out.
I’m not a gossipy gal. I mean, not… like I want to beat gossipy bitches over the head with an empty wine bottle. There are way too many of those around here. Gossipy bitches, I mean. Ok, maybe empty wine bottles too. Hey, a girl’s gotta get by. Don’t judge. Besides, helllllloooooo… antioxidants.
Anyhoooooo… so several years back, I was trying to make nice with the gossip-moms, since my kid seemed to like to spend time with their kids. I enjoyed their company—mostly. I tried. It didn’t matter what was going on, there was always a point where they’d pull out the big ol’ jar of gossip, and slather the stench all over the conversation. Changing the subject was normally out of the question, since they’d typically already covered their limited repertoire of cosmetic procedures, shopping acquisitions and 5-star vacations. I did mention I live in the OC, right? Yes, that OC. I swear some normal people live here too. Hello… *points to self* … Ok, yeah, yeah, somewhat normal.
So at one of these playdate/gossipfests, the stench spread became, ummmmm, interesting. The gossipalooza included wife swaps, fetishes and orgies, involving friends and acquaintances I’d known for many years. It was fifty fucking shades of ohmygawd. I was shocked. Not because I judge. I’m totally a to-each-his/her-own kind of girl. If they all found others with whom they can share their fetishes… awesome. You go, people. We’re all adults here.
But it did bother me that another of my friends, someone I considered an actual friend, was named in the gangbang gang. Her name was being thrown around, and these women were discussing things about her that I felt were not only private, but potentially damaging to her career, if this got out. These women were throwing around this information very lightly, without considering how it could affect these people, should this information become known to the wrong people.
I wanted to unhear it all. But at the same time, I felt a loyalty to my friend to let her know what the town gossips were spewing. I felt awful. I sat on the info for months, and it killed me. I finally made the decision to tell her what these women were sharing all over town. The conversation was even more uncomfortable than walking with my parents by the monkey cage at the zoo, as the monkeys were playing bury the bone. There is no time that a 12-year old should have to experience that with her parents. Ever. And telling my friend that she was the subject of the coffee klatch gossipfest was worse.
I had no idea how to deliver the news to my friend. I’m sure it came out as awkwardly as it felt. I didn’t want her to think I was telling her because I was judging her. And I didn’t know what I expected her to do with the information. But I just felt like she had the right to know what these women were saying. I felt like I would want to know if I were in her place.
Sadly, that was one of the last conversations I ever had with her. She and her husband moved out-of-state shortly afterward. And she never spoke to me again after that. I felt like I made the right decision, telling her. I would have wanted to know. I’ve questioned my judgement a million times over the years. What would you have done?
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