If you have any sense of foreshadowing, you’ll know are only two types of posts that could follow a three-night sleepover with HB:
- Juicy, emotionally confusing, and morally questionable
- Sensible, uptight, and boring
You’ll be happy to hear that my post is of the first variety. While it ranks high in the entertaining category, it ranks low in the my-proudest-moments category. So don’t judge, k?
I arrived at HB’s to find him vacuuming. Apparently, he cared about making impressions, although this was not the first time I’d stayed at his apartment. Neither of us had planned anything for the first night, so we had dinner with his brother at a Korean/Japanese restaurant nearby. Then, we engaged in our favourite activity: wandering around The City. We walked through urban parks and impromptu art displays, we sat down on benches and stone garden walls, we held hands and linked arms. We were completely in-tune with each other, and conversation flowed endlessly. He never mentioned his relationship status and I never asked.
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“I don’t know what it is, I just can’t handle MACs,” I said, throwing my hands up in the air for emphasis.
“That’s because you’re so familiar with PCs. MACs are actually more user-friendly. They’re more intuitive,” OBF said, facing her screen as she clicked away.
“That’s what I’ve heard, but to me, they’re completely counter intuitive!”
“You just have to pretend you don’t know how to use a PC. Then it’ll be much easier for you to learn how to use a MAC.”
We were sitting in OBF’s room, which hadn’t changed one bit from the last time I’d been in here, some time during high school. It was the epitome of a girl’s room, with a cream-coloured four-pillared bed and matching dresser, Lindsey Lohan magazine cutouts on the closet door, and the full collection of Babysitter’s Club on her bookshelf. I cringed.
This was one of the differences between OBF and I. While she grew up in all this girliness, I did not adopt any girlish fancies until I turned 18. That was the year I stopped boycotting lace, dresses, and the colour pink. Needless to say, I missed the age of Babysitter’s Club entirely.
OBF had called me out that morning at 7:30am, informing me that she had broken up with her boyfriend of three years. I should have been more alarmed – and I was sufficiently surprised considering two days ago she had been telling me about their wedding plans – but the truth is, I was sure they were going to get back together. Those two were made for each other. So I drove out to her part of The City and met her for brunch. She explained the premise of their break-up in between sobs and massive amounts of napkins while I chewed on a piece of a toast.
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