Friends of the Caboose

Check that out!  A friend of mine sent it to me. The picture, not a real caboose—that would have been way awesome! Most friends send gifts or money. My friends send gifs, no money. Hey, at least my friends read my blog.

What are friends for?

I hope more than reading blogs. We write emails too. We used to write letters when we were kids, but that was before stamps cost more than a weekly allowance.

“Dude! How are you? I am totally fine!”

Stick that in the mail, draw some freehand monster artwork, add a dash of big hand-drawn spotted-font “HOWDY”s, and a compliment of “I saw the coolest girl…” angst and your up to date with our teen correspondence.

There was the time I included the smattering of hand-squeezed Minnesota mosquitoes, but let’s keep that one on the down low.  Minnesota has some harsh wildlife transportation laws.

“Sorry officer, I was young. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse, son.”

That’s what friends are for. Introducing you to the local law enforcement. That and 3:00 am games of “You know what sounds like fun?” Those usually end in introductions to the local law enforcement, or calls from the hospital.

“Yah, greasing the shopping cart wheels was probably overkill, but icing the ramp was an awesome idea!”

Friends are the people who help decorate your skeleton closet. They’re also the ones who crash your pity party and teabag you until you get your crap together.

Okay, we were never that close, but I would have hired a stranger to teabag him. That’s the least I could do: we’ve known each other forever. And that’s why he sent me a white caboose.  He was too poor to afford a teabag surrogate.

They’re expeinsive in Detroit.  Who knew?

My friend knew how to make me laugh. Isn’t that enough?  He thought I was down about the Great White Caboose.  When I said somebody else had written about that, he thought I was down about that too.

I wasn’t down, but it was so cool that he asked about my caboose. I told him that I’ve accepted the Great White Caboose. I own it.  Somebody else writing about it? That’s fine too. I’d rather someone else whined about it than me. Let their publisher throw them a tea bag party.

I’ve got a better party. A party of friends and family, who care enough to check in, and nothing is better than that.

Okay, maybe owning a real white caboose.  That would be way cool.