A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

My dress is more flattering than Sandra's. She looks like a sausage in a blue shiny casing, but being her best friend, I would never tell her that. 

I give her a kiss. She's gone overboard with the Poison perfume again, which I happen to know isn't Poison at all, but Poisonous Nights, a knock-off version. 

I can tell she's had too many vodka coolers by the way she wobbles on those heels. Those heels, by the way, do not match her dress, but I don't mention it. Sometimes you've got to be the bigger person. 

"Ray will be so happy you came," she says, gesturing toward her boyfriend at the barbeque.

Ray is, in truth, an oaf. He's tall and a little pudgy round the middle and he always wears these sloppy sweaters. Next to Sandy, he's like a giant in one of those children's stories. Like Jack and the Beanstalk. Plus, I think he wants to sleep with me. I'd tell her about it, but I'm too good of a friend.

Later, Sandra finds me at the snack table trying to choke down one of her horrid sausage rolls. She's swaying on those heels, looking like a boat tied up in the harbor. 

"I love you, Marnie," she says to me. 

"I love you too, Sandy," I reply. 

Then I tell her she looks beautiful which we all know is a bald-faced lie. What can I say? Some people are givers and some are takers. Me, I'm a giver. 

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