When Anna Came to Visit.





I've visited Anna where she lives in Paris more times than I can count. This weekend I played hostess in Rome for a change. I'm shit at it. It was still all the fun, though, to periodically exclaim to one another, TEN YEARS AGO WE WERE IN A DRAMA CLASS IN YORKSHIRE TOGETHER. NOW LOOK AT US!





Look at us indeed. Drunk and snap-happy.







"Right. You've been here ten minutes. Prosecco?" I said. "FINALLY!" she replied. "That was the longest ten minutes of my life. Let's go."




Because it was my birthday weekend I did smoking. SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.




"This is where you live?" she asked me. "I'll call myself a smug bitch so you don't have to," I said.




That's the Marilyn moment over with, then.




I made her eat the best gelato outside of the bestest building...







... made all the better because THE HORSE STUCK IT'S TONGUE OUT AT US. That's almost better than a banana in hat.




The bestest building gave the bestest light. That's a hole in the ceiling, in case you were wondering.




Pause for lunch. Right next to us were Spain's most beautiful twentysomethings. It was disgusting.




I got drunk to deal with my feelings.




ALL THE BEST SIGNS!




So, I got a tattoo, and Anna let me hold her hand really, really hard while the nice man did it.




Right after he drew this as the outline I wanted to do throwing up. I just kept saying. I'M TATTOOING A BANANA IN A HAT ON MYSELF. Then the needle went in. 






Anna's solution for post-tattoo euphoria was to drink vodka-based cocktails to deal with my emotions. HEY! SPOT THE PATTERN! I DRINK TO DEAL WITH THE INSIDES OF MY HEAD. That's healthy. p.s. hi, ex-roomie!




On the way home we stood on the bridge on the way to my house and Anna said, 'You're a very fortunate lady.' Internet? SHE WAS RIGHT.







Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Your story is not ready for you to worry about yet

Image
I teach creative writing, and often what happens is that my students repeat my words back to me and I don't understand that it was me who said them first and it's a headfuck. I love teaching. I love communicating knowledge and I love using my skill with words to package information in a way that lands with the other person. I sort of took it upon myself, at the end of last year, to help one of the girls I used to nanny with her 11+ because I could so clearly identify where her boldest missteps were and part of me thought  maybe I am interfering too much  and then her mother cancelled her tutor and asked me to come over instead and you know what? She aced the exam and I know I played a part in that. After, when she called me to tell me how good she felt about what she'd done, I cried. She's working on a novel and she FaceTimed me on Easter Sunday from a walk on the Devon coast to show me some goat poo. That child reminds me to be love. Some people have comme...
Read more

Frenemy.

Image
Ladies and Gentlemen: introducing the concept of FRENENMIES. Also known as, who needs enemies when you have friends like these to remind you of every drunken, slightly-out-of-character (FINE. Slightly-in-character...) incident that YOU'D REALLY RATHER FORGET. Frenemies are there, ready and waiting, to bring all of this up. Even over email. Me : I think you need a WWLD braclet to help successfully conduct your life without me. Frenemy : I have no idea what that means. And if you are trying to spell BRACELET then I am so disappointed in you. Me : WHAT WOULD LAURA DO? Like the What Would Jesus Do bracelets Christians have to get them through their days. Frenemy : Oh! Okay then. I would wear it with pride. (Everytime I see a hot man... *has sex with them on a park bench*). Maybe the whole bracelet thing isn't such a good idea after all. Me : I CAN'T BELIVE YOU JUST BROUGHT THAT UP. Frenemy : I will continue to bring it up at any oppurtunity. Me : It's spelt oppOrtunity. And...
Read more

Death in the Family

Image
Pickle, the family rabbit, has died. I found out because Mama emailed me about it. We're going to bury him in the garden tonight, next to Eric, she said. ERIC DIED TOO? I replied. Eric is my auntie's rabbit. She lives across the road from Mama and they used to have rabbit play-dates. Eric died last month, I was told. And then the gravity of Mama's words hit me. They were going to bury my beautiful little lion-haired baby in the ground with Verbose Auntie's overweight, smelly, and not to mention AMOROUS beast of a pet. They were going to be together for all eternity. Mama , I implored back, those rabbits cannot spend the rest of forever together.... Eric was a rapist.  And it's true. We'd all been in the garden when, as Verbose Auntie put it, Eric's lipstick came out of the tube. Poor Pickle didn't stand a chance. There was rabbit-on-rabbit penetration, and we all sat by and watched it happen on that sunny afternoon. Hell. We might even have enjoyed it. G...
Read more