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  • Amok Mama: Old friends who never read your blog


Amok Mama: Old friends who never read your blog

It doesn't matter what you write about those old friends who never read your blog... does it?

My old friend comes over for dinner. I’ve not seen her for ages. Maybe years. Definitely over a year. A long time, anyways.

“How’s Lucy?” she asks about a mutual friend of ours.

“I don’t know,” I admit, shamefacedly.

“You don’t know?” she asks, totally, kind of like, shell-shocked.

“I haven’t seen her in a year.”

“You haven’t seen her in a year?”

“Well, we kind of fell out.”

“You guys fell out?”

“She fell out with me, anyway.”

“She fell out with you? Why?”

“I kind of wrote a blog about something she’d said. But I changed her name and everything. I never thought she’d notice. And then she fell out with me.”

My old friend sniffs, thoughtfully.

“See,” she says. “That’s why I never read your blog.”

I squint at her sceptically. “When you say never,” I say, totally suspicious, “do you mean like never, ever, ever NEVER?”

“Never,” she says.

“What about when I called all Americans rapists? Or that one about sending Rico to private school? Or that one about Gwyneth Paltrow having her head in a box? You must read it sometimes.”

“I never read it, ever,” she says.

“Never, ever?”

“Never, ever, ever.”

“Oh,” I say.

“I’ve got this friend who reads it though. He really hates you.”

“Is he American?” I ask.

“That’s not why he hates you,” she says.

“Why does he hate me then?” I ask.

She pauses. Then she says, melodramatically: “He thinks you make the quotes up.”

I blink at her, like I’ve just stepped out into the sunlight after the Kino.

“Well, of course I make the quotes up,” I say. “I have to think of something to write every week. And people – you know people – they’re just not that fucking interesting. I have to make the quotes up a little bit. Hey, can I write my next blog about him thinking that I make quotes up?”

My old friend squeals.

“No!” she says. “You’re not allowed to. Okay, Jacinta? Have a bit of fucking respect for once. No wonder Lucy doesn’t speak to you anymore. You’re a fucking monster.”

But after she leaves, I can’t help thinking: well, what the fuck. She never reads it anyways; she’ll never find out.