I’m a bad friend. I missed my pal, Crunchie’s Birthday. But I didn’t do it on purpose!
You see, I’ve somehow managed to convince my brain that her birthday is November 5—today—so I’d planned to call her tonight and wish her a big happy birthday. Problem: her birthday is, in fact, November 2, which was Friday. Ergo, I missed her birthday.
Bad friend = me.
I rang her tonight anyway, apologised profusely, and wished her a belated happy birthday. Then we did what we always do, which is what most girls do with best pals who live forever away—we chatted and laughed for far too long, and she ended up being late for tennis.
This is Crunchie.
I met her the same way I seem to have met many of the coolest people I know—through Wabi. They were childhood pals in the jungles of Papua New Guinea, before their families both moved back to Australia. I’m sure we met briefly at some point during school, but I really got to know her on our little post-grade-twelve romp at the beach. We lazed at the beach, took lazy walks to the shops, and stole toilet paper from a near-by park so we didn’t have to buy any.
Then, after years of travelling the globe (her, not me, sadly), we began hanging out almost weekly, while we were both studying. We discovered a shared love of bad romcoms, a slight obsession with checking out the opposite sex, and became life-long friends.
Crunchie—other than being drop dead gorgeous—is smart, warm, and adventurous. She’s also addicted to coffee, so I try to avoid her early in the morning. But I live vicariously through her regular international jaunts, laugh at her moments of ‘duh’ (and let her laugh at mine), and love her genuine excitement at doing everything. She’s a soul sister, and one of the few people I trust with anything.
Happy Birthday, my dear Crunchie. I promise next year to not only remember your actual birthday, but make sure it’s one you won’t forget.