It's Tuesday afternoon, and for the fourth consecutive time, I find myself at my best friend Annie's house being pulled through college algebra by the hair on my head...and the ends of her nerves.
"Don't even worry about it", she waves away my concern. "I guarantee you he doesn't even remember buying it. He probably doesn't even know it's there."
We're seated at the kitchen counter, immersed in the explanation as to why x equals 2.25, when her father enters the room from the garage, a stack of mail in his hands.
"Hello children", he greets, not looking up. "How's the tutoring going?" We groan. He nods. Then "I smell bacon. Annie, did you cook bacon?" He looks from the stove-top, then back to us, "Annie why would you do this when you know Sydney is a vegetarian?" He gives me an apologetic look.
"Dad... Sydney isn't a vegetarian anymore." Annie rubs her temples.
"Really now?" He looks to me, "Since when?"
"Uhhh..." I choose my words carefully, "Oh, it's been about... three years now?" I pretend to have to think about it.
"DAD, you ask her that EVERY TIME she comes over." It's HER turn to give me the apologetic look. I shrug.
"Well then." Mr. Barry is about to continue flipping through the mail, when he notices the sweater Annie is wearing. "Ah, yes, Stanford. You know, it was a bunch of Yalies that founded Stanford." Annie goes to Yale. She nods. I nod. Mr. Barry nods. We all nod.
As if on cue, Jack (Annie's younger, more eccentric sibling) emerges from the depths of the bedroom in which he dwells, wearing a tweed sweater, shorts, and Ugg boots.
"Ugg boots? Really Jack?" Mr. Barry sighs in defeat, leaving the room before (what I assume to be) a mental break-down ensues. Jack nods. Annie nods. I nod. We all nod.
"HELLO!? Are there any children in there!?" The door to the garage opens as a mountain of grocery bags slink in, and begins to speak. "I COOKED!" A lonely arm wields Kentucky Fried Chicken.
The bags drop to the floor, allowing Mrs. Barry to enter the kitchen in a more civilized manner, while gingerly avoiding them.
"How's tutoring going?" she asks. Groans ensue.
"Stanford?" She questions, inspecting Annie's sweater for stray dog hair. "You're wearing a Stanford sweater? Isn't that some major Yale feaux pas? Some ancient rivalry?"
Annie shakes her head "People from Yale were actually the ones who FOUNDED Stanford."
Mrs. Barry nods approvingly. She begins to remove dinner from it's package, when she removes some tiny round containers. "I made absolutely SURE to grab some extra mashed potatoes for Sydney, Little Miss Vegetarian over there."
Annie and I look at each other, stifling exasperated laughter.
"JACK. Uggs? REALLY?" Mrs. Barry glares, "Go change your clothes. You look like a fool."
"That's what I told him." Mr. Barry enters again. "Oh, chicken, yum!"
"Mom! Dad! You're stifling my individualism! My artistic creativity." Jack protests.
"Who's pesto is this?" Mr. Barry roots in the fridge.
"Go CHANGE." Mrs. Barry insists.
"I hope somebody doesn't mind me eating their pesto."
"But MOM!"
"NOW JACK!" we all yell, as he stomps away mumbling about conformism, and future culture.
The rest of us look at one another. Mr. Barry nods. Mrs. Barry nods. Annie nods. I nod. We all nod, indicating the perfect time to break out the chicken.
Because Algebra is always easier with a friend.
Because Uggs were meant for winter, while shorts were meant for summer.
Because I'm not a vegetarian.
Because that's just How It Is.
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