Her name is Sunny and she takes all this very personally.
Do you see the size of those raindrops? Central Coast of California winter. Monsoon. Landslides. Slats of neighbors fences doing Olympic figure skating leaps and hitting your chimney in flight. Because, did I mention 60 to 70 mph wind?
I remember one Olympic year. Oh yes. I was newly emancipated from living on campus. My first apartment! My first cat! My first bottle of wine with a friend at a table of pasta and black olives. The first time I cooked the pasta all the noodles sloshed out of the colander and onto the linoleum. We laughed and laughed and wondered aloud whether I should be trusted to live alone. [foreshadowing] Then I made more pasta. This was Indiana in 1995. Grunge was my bag for sure. Lots of flannel and Stone Temple Pilots and Camel Extra Wide cigarettes.
My amazingly beautiful Pre-Raphaelite faced red headed friend sat in my grandpa's hand-me-down recliner and cried. I noticed a pile of dried up cat poop under the recliner and was mortified. She had shown me her shameful boxes. But I would not show mine. I waited until the next morning to pick it up.
When I watched the aforementioned SNL skit later it was with another beautiful friend. This one from Greece. So gorgeous I let her walk all over me for three years and then lost her forever. She was visually perfect and yet during that SNL episode I caught her pinching her cheek because she was convinced she could give herself a dimple. I told her about facial muscles and that surgery was the only option for new dimples. I hope she got over it before growing into a salary or a sugar daddy.