Telling It Like It Is

It was really beginning to bug me.

I'd always considered her my very fun but sort of fragile friend. But fragile in a good way. A little overly sensitive, but almost childlike in her optimism.  Funny as Hell, and game for almost any antic at all. Laughs at your jokes, makes jokes of her own. So what if she was largely regarded as a kook. She was delightfully nutty. Somewhere between Lucille Ball and Gallagher.

But sinister and self-serving?  I never would have guessed. And even if I had figured out that she had the potential for evil, I never would have thought that I'd be the target. Or maybe not the target, exactly.  The collateral damage.  Something she'd happily sacrifice in pursuit of her real target.  All the years we'd known each other out the window - at the first ever coin toss.

The evening was relatively quiet.  I guess she had run out of clever ideas designed to ferret out information from unsuspecting friends.  Or maybe she was catching up on all the work she neglected during the business day while she was torturing me within an inch of my sanity. 

And then, shortly after I'd cleaned up the dinner dishes, signed all the permission slips and packed lunches and folded two loads of laundry and finally logged onto Facebook to chat a little with some friends, I got a text.

"Liza, you are freaking me out. You are completely not you. I am not sure what is going on.  We have been friends for so many years."

I let that sit there for a while. I was not going to answer. I was sure not answering was the right thing to do. I should just start not answering and stick to not answering until she was certain she was being frosted for all eternity.

But I went to bed and couldn't sleep. It had come to that.

So I picked up my phone and replied.

"You're right. We have been friends for years. That's why I don't understand what you are getting out of all of this. You are shamelessly looking for information, which you then blab hither and yon with such indiscretion that it eventually makes its way back to me.

Don't text me. Don't message me. And do not dare call me.  I will not respond. Go ahead, light up the social network trying to figure out who sang to me. Just don't make another ounce of trouble for me. Your conduct is appalling. The years of friendship make it so.
Liza"

Send. And off to sleep like a lamb.