The Day I Met my BFFs

This was a response to a Vox Question of the Day: How did you meet your best friend?

So, M has already  written a great entry for this question (how cool is it that both of these girls are on Vox?), but I have got to do my version of this. I met M during the week before classes started.  We were sitting on the floor of the Modern Languages offices waiting for someone to get there so we could ask questions about which classes we should register for, since we were both beyond the 101 level.  M was signing up for Spanish, and I was looking for French 301, which I couldn’t believe wasn’t really on the schedule.  It really wasn’t, so I whimsically decided to sign up for German instead, “for fun.”  You know the Germans, they’re just so droll! I remember that M seemed really smart, and that she had on some funky metallic turquoise toenail polish.


The next week, when I showed up for that German class, I met C, the other third of our great triumvirate.  I was a leetle bit jealous, because not only did she also seem really smart, but she was one of the kids who already knew some German from her German Dad.  She also had on some cool retro jelly-shoe-type sandals.  (I apparently noticed a lot of details about my friends’ feet, which is starting to make me sound like a weirdo, but there you go.  I notice people’s shoes.)

Anyway, that’s how I met those girls, and I am damned glad I did. One might even say that it’s a good thing our college was so tiny it didn’t offer French 301 every semester, or I wouldn’t have been in that office and I certainly wouldn’t have signed up for German.

That first semester, we had a bunch of classes together– all three of us were in the Art History/World Literature “honors cluster”– I remember the Art History class being fairly lame, and the only pieces I still remember from it are the Woman of Willendorf and the Nike of Samothrace.  The rest of that knowledge?  Gone.  The World Lit class ruled, though. It was in that class that I drew my tattoo.

The Divine Comedy
The Tale of Genji

After that semester, my rommate moved off campus; M ditched her psychotic roommate and moved in with me; and we lived together for the rest of the time we were at school. C and I stayed in the German program with the amazing Dr. F., coolest professor ever.  Sophomore year, we all took the wretched Anthropology class with “Scary Mary,” who was an evil, misshapen old crone.  She not only maintained some extremely sketchy beliefs about the way the world worked and her role in it, but she also made me cry one time yelling at me in her office.  She was missing part of one of her fingers, most probably from some ritual in New Guinea where she was blessed with her evil powers. We probably only survived that class because we were in it together.

Over the four years in college we occasionally wound up in classes together again, but most of what I remember was extra-curricular, and often illegal.  Heh.  There was Ally McBeal and the Lilith Fair and a million other concerts and singing at FWIW and those dresses from Sunshine Daydream and vodka smoothies at Moe-Chapelli’s and writing and photography and about a million lame boyfriends.

And now, there is (as M says) fancy book-learnin’ at grad schools and law school in far away states and get-togethers at Christmas break, and there are better jobs and bigger houses and dogs and soon, for one of us, babies!   I am thrilled and excited about the big, wonderful things going on in my friends’ lives, and always thankful that I know them.

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