What would you do for a good friend? At what lengths would you go, for your amigo?
If there is one thing I can say about my good friend Hillary, it is that she is totally dependable. Unfortunately I don't think I can admit the same quality about myself. I am more likely to be willing to help you if its convenient for me. If it's totally out of my way...I may do it, but not without some total guilt trip. I'm not proud of that, merely something I have noticed about myself that becomes obvious in times where I have really been in need, and been lifted up by a few special people.
Without complaint. Hillary is one of those people. Almost to a fault, she is completely selfless. It is the thing I admire most about her. She would probably wipe my ass if I shat myself in public and was unable to do anything about it. Unlike Finance, who has already admitted to me (and yes we have had this discussion!) that were I to accidentally shat myself he would ONLY help me if it were from illness. That if I were to shat myself from drunkenness, I would be on my own. Fairweather partner he is eh?
I wanted to share with you an example of this sort of 'above and beyond' quality in a friend.
Remember the story about the internet reservist from Boston who drove to Tallahassee to meet me over Thanksgiving in 1999? Yeah. Well. The night he was to arrive, I had to work. He was 'supposed' to have been arriving around the time I got off work, and in true form, I had neglected to tidy up my place and wouldn't have time to do it when I got home. I called in for back up. I asked Hillary if she would mind swinging by my place to make it look good and run a load or 20 to the laundry mat for me. She obliged.
Let me give you some background information. I had just acquired (or rather charged on my Citibank card) an 8 week old Labrador retriever. I thought it would be 'fun' to have a dog. I lived in a 500sq foot space with terrazzo floors decorated with randomly cut leftover carpet scraps I had scrounged from a store. Needless to say my attempts at getting the carpeted look with scraps, looked pretty, well, sCRAPpy.
The 'pup', MARLEY, had an uncontrollable bladder problem. (CAN YOU IMAGINE?). I couldn't keep up with the amount of piss he dumped into those carpet scraps. It was pretty bad. And I sort of well, got used to the 'rings'. Keep in mind, I was 20. My biggest priority was looking good on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. It was NOT cleaning up after a puppy. Which I did, half-assed.
So. When I got home later that night, I walked through the door to find Hillary, sweating, hair matted in a tank top and her little FSU shorts (I'm sure) on her hands and knees scrubbing with a toothbrush (practically) a small, final, corner of a carpet scrap.
She was pissed. And she was over-piss. And while I had not requested carpet cleaning on my little list of things to do, she had cleaned every square inch of piss and remnant shat crumbles, from my little stank apartment. That day became Hallmark in our friendship. And if you ever ask her how well she knows me, the first thing out of her mouth will be 'oh I know the bitch, I cleaned dog piss out of her carpet'.
What a trooper you are Hillary! We just love you to shat pieces.
