Friends are like boobs.. You get big ones, you get small ones, you get real ones, you get fake ones.

One of my bestie’s from Bermuda is here to stay for the weekend.  Yay.

It’s not a secret that we fell out a few years ago.

Then I heard she had cancer and was so upset.. I got in touch.

We made up and we made a plan.

She was going to Philadelphia to have her breasts removed so I planned to go visit her.

We hadn’t seen each other in four years and I wasn’t sure what to expect. She’d already been through chemo and surgery by the time we reached her.

I was apprehensive and had to take a deep breath before entering the room.

But there was my frail little friend sitting in a monstrous blue pleather chair with no boobs, no hair on her head and with an uncanny resemblance to Mr Magoo.. but prettier.

We hugged and cried and hugged and cried and then I said ‘We need to break you out if here’.   Astonished, she replied ‘I CAN’T go out.. I CAN’T walk and I DON’T have a wheelchair.’ 

Not put off by the plethora of tubes poking from her vest.. (she did look like a suicide bomber) I answered ‘Nonsense’ and promptly turned to M and asked ‘Please find the nearest hospital and acquire a wheelchair.’

So off M and husband went to pilfer some wheels. They returned an hour later with a ‘borrowed’ hospital issue chariot.

I wrapped my friend in blankets and off we went to pound the streets of Philadelphia. It’s handy having someone in a wheelie when you’re in Zara.. You can pile clothes on them while making crucial decisions.

Also we discovered it’s easier getting a table in a busy restaurant when you have a bald headed person who isn’t too proud to play the cancer card.

At some point we accidentally joined a gay pride parade and it was entertaining spinning her around to the music with lots of colourful, friendly people filling the air with love and positivity.. and the sweet sweet smell of marijuana.

The only curious thing about the weekend were the strangers who felt it appropriate to randomly stop us and pat my friend on her bald little head and say ‘God bless you.’

Well firstly it was obvious she wasn’t a Labrador and secondly.. How did they know she wasn’t a goddamn atheist!

Now it’s my turn to be the patient and she’s flown across the ocean for me. Usually our weekends are consumed with vast quantities of alcohol but this weekend we’ll have to make do with vast qualities of mutual love and Netflix.

Incidentally, many years ago she represented her country in the Miss Universe pageant. She was beautiful then but she’s even more beautiful now.  She hates it when I tell people this. 

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