Katriel comes along for the ride (If Amy was a magician, she would have written her errands on a ta-da list!)

It started simply enough.

A text.

"Do you want to grab a margarita sometime this week?"

She had me at margarita.

Unfortunately for Katriel though, nothing involving me is ever simple.

Her brilliantly succinct plan of point A to point B was quickly edited to include ALL the letters of the alphabet.

"Do you mind (driving an hour out before doubling back to our destination) popping in quick (an hour or more) to see my mom?" I texted back.

"Sure!"

"Wear clothes intended for the islands" I texted, to (a) set a tone of tropical delight and (b) offer a subtle warning that it is possible to keel over from heat stroke in my mom's apartment. I then proceeded to don a sweater because Mom likes pink and always compliments me when I wear it.

I made sure Katriel was safely strapped into my gas-conserving clown car before providing her with our itinerary packed with delightful destinations such as returning cans and buying bologna. "Let's stop quick and get coffees first," I said, hoping that a caffeinated coma would cloud the drudgery of our day. 

Unfortunately for Katriel though, nothing involving me is ever quick.

My friend Shanna is the best barista in the county. She even has an award! Lucky us...we happened to
catch her mid-shift. She whipped up our delicious beverages in the blink of an eye, leaving ample time for her and I to catch up. We didn't pop in so much as plop in. But the coffee made carrying in a car-load of cans so much easier. Holding the coffee in one hand left the other one free to hold the door for Katriel who heroically hefted nearly a dozen bags into the recycling center. "Where's your coffee?" I asked her. "It's in the car," she gritted out as she had the handle of one bag clenched in her teeth. So inventive.

We bought the bologna (and the thirty or so other grocery items I may have failed to mention to Katriel) without incident before heading to the next town so that I could flesh out a possible mail fraud scam at the post office. "Is this a scam?" I asked, holding up a questionable text message to the post master. She didn't even blink an eye. "Delete it." Case closed which meant, happily, that I could give Katriel a "quick" tour of my hometown. "Frederick Douglass crossed THIS street," I emphasized, pointing, "to deliver his scheduled-but-cancelled-due-to-idiocy speech on the steps of the Bissell house." 

Can caffeine make you sleepy? Katriel stifled a yawn. I thoughtfully abbreviated our tour to my and Brad's childhood homes and to the village green upon which I once fell asleep as I used it as a mid-way break bicycling to my early morning employment destination of picking strawberries (before quitting  (or being invited to leave) three days later). "I'll show you the space rock in front of the library on our way home," I promised. "Great," Katriel said sleepily.

Several hours after picking Katrial up, we finally made it to my mom's apartment. I slowly sweated to death in my pink sweater after I stuffed Katriel into a corner of my mother's living room to meticulously apply vinyl accent stickers to Mom's half wall. My mom admired the beautiful flowered decorations while I complained, "Katriel. How much longer? We want to play cards." Mom and I heard her voice as if from very far away, hidden behind Mom's recliner and wrapped around the lamp stand. "I'm almost done," she sighed.

After Mom beat us in several rounds of Crazy 8s, Katriel and I departed. "Do you want a flight or a glass big enough to swim laps in?" I asked. Turns out, it didn't matter! The restaurant we chose served both! I did backstrokes while Katriel delicately discerned the subtle flavors of her flight. 

It's bad enough that Katriel is smarter, more organized, more sensible, harder working, more patient, and nicer than me. On top of that, I have been, valiantly, coming to terms with the fact that one of my best friends is more than half my age. To be fair, it's not an issue that often weighs on my mind. However, others seem to like to point it out. At the beginning of this school year, while partaking of another one of our favorite beverages, I was asked if I was the matriarch of our entire cider-imbibing crew. At the moment, it seemed easier to just respond "Yes"  to this very insensitive question posed by an obviously myopic idiot and move on. I didn't expect my "daughters" to so-enthusiastically embrace their new role in my life, thanking me for the cider and asking me what we were having for supper before I threatened to ground them and suspend their allowances indefinitely.

So I shouldn't have been surprised as, when I was diving down to the bottom of my glass to retrieve the cherry, it happened. "Is this your daughter?" our attentive but obviously blind waiter asked. I groaned while Katriel cackled. I sighed. Being mistaken as Katriel's mother is definitely a compliment but still..."Don't be such a sour-puss," Katriel scolded, signaling our waiter who rushed off to get me another drink, hoping to recoup his chance of getting a decent tip. "Don't be so salty," I shot back, fore-going the straw and gulping down the contents of my glass in record time. "Or I'll send you to bed without your margarita."