Because everyone loves labels…
As you all know (I’m assuming; I know it, so everyone else must as well, I’m pretty sure that’s how that works), I was telephoning my best mate this past Saturday—because she’s too pig-headed to switch to Verizon like any sane person would in this situation—and we had a very fortuitous conversation. At first it was just the usual, talking about baking blenders and refrigerators from scratch (although she allowed me the use of buttons and leftover string as well) and how crazy-amazing infinity is (answer: it is crazy freaking amazing and that’s a fact). But then she told me that her sister and I are basically soul-mates. My word was “analogous” but I’m a nerd, obviously, so whatever. Anyway. This sister was born when her mom was 24. And so was I! Well, when my mom was 24, not when hers was. Otherwise we’d be the same age, which we aren’t, at least not last time I checked. Maybe I should look again though, just to be sure. (Also, point of interest, my girl’s sister has the same mom as my girl! Weird, right?) Anyway, so now that I know that, employing the infamous colon-analogy device with respect to respective ages at birth (both myself and this other person being zero days of age at the time of delivery), this is what I get: (and that colon doesn’t count so just ignore it if it’s confusing to the analogy) Big Sister : her mom :: I : my mom. Yes. I think I need to find this kid-adult-person and become best friends with her. I mean duh, look at all we have in common!
Once upon a time there was a brave (and exceedingly modest) knight called Bailey. Bailey had this sweet job wherein everyone joined forces to slay unsuspecting offenders, leaving nothing but pulp. Naturally, this unification in purpose laid the foundation for some pretty solid friendships; like if this were X-Men we would be the Brotherhood. Or that other group that is the opposite of them. Hm. What are those people called…? Or if we were so privileged to be in the best realm of existence ever we’d be part of the Alliance, or on Mal’s crew. Or if we were superheroes we’d all together be Mr. Incredible (because he works alone…or maybe that isn’t actually the best analogy to use…). Anyway. Bailey was particularly friends with this one friend-in-arms, whose name we shall call Brutus. After that dog-fury. Or after Julius Ceasar’s mate. Or maybe it’s not symbolic of anything; the world may never know. Even though Brutus is a girl, but whatever; I do what I want. So Bailey and Brutus were buds and hung out some outside of pulverizing things, and then one day Bailey was simultaneously both forcibly promoted and banished. But it didn’t make a difference, except that somewhere also around that time a spy-informer leaked speculative intelligence against Bailey to Brutus, which didn’t matter at the time because Brutus is awesome and didn’t hold it against Bailey, but later it came back to bite like the dickens. So moving one. Bailey and Brutus don’t dwell in the same plane of existence for the time being, so they don’t see each other. Bailey keeps trying to keep in touch but Brutus refuses to acknowledge Bailey’s existence. Bailey understands that Brutus has her reasons and isn’t trying to be mean, but Bailey still isn’t a fan of the silent treatment. Not that Bailey has feelings anyway, but if she did she’d have them about this.
Bonus funny quote, courtesy of aforementioned beautiful girl:
In the context of me reminding her not to speculate about my brother because people who are not gay tend to not appreciate being thought gay, she said: “Weird. That’s like saying ugly people don’t like being thought beautiful. Learn to take a compliment, people!”