Red Headed Sluts

I’ve always said, you gotta know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

One of my best friends decided to fold ‘em today.  He gave it his best shot though.  And lesser men would have walked away from the trouble of it all a long time ago.  Speaking of shots, ours used to be the Red Headed Slut.  Red Headed Sluts put the poor guy in the hospital one night.  It was our silent little side joke of a toast to me.  The sweet-at-first, burns-on-the-way-down, makes-you-act-insane, one ounce glass of trouble that I am.  Funny how one little glass of Jaeger, Peach Schnapps and cranberry can embody me so well.  Sweet as a peach when I want to be.  Sour as an unripe cranberry at times.  And crazy as a bottle of Jaeger.

Problem was, he was crazy too.  And if you’ve ever played with the like-charged sides of a magnet you know that the poles never come together.  They just dance around on the table in this crazy dance with no rhyme or reason. 

And so we fell to bits and pieces. 

And then all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men put us back together again.  As friends.  And despite the reigning idea that a person with a penis and a person with a vagina cannot ever, under any circumstances, be just friends, we did it.  We defied the laws of the universe.  And somehow neither of us – and no one is going to believe me on this one – ever wanted to have sex with the other.   Never.  Nada.  Nope.  Nothing.  We truly had found a cure for sexual tension between men and women, and were on our way to creating the best friendship known on Earth.  How great is it to have a member of the opposite sex to consult on relationship issues who really, truly doesn’t want to get you naked?  No ulterior motives. 

But then Life road in on her Wicked Witch of the West broomstick and got in the way again.  Life has a way of being a bitch like that.  Just when the party’s gettin’ good and the bar is hoppin’ life turns on the lights and it’s last call closing time.  Every time you think you’ve got it all figured out, she changes everything.  And that’s why you have to learn to roll with the punches.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Because in twenty-five seconds it could all change.  Like it said, know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. 

And for various and sundried reasons he left.  He folded on the friendship.

So tonight at the bar I’m drinking Red Headed Sluts.  And toasting to us.  Because we defied all logic and stereotype and proved that men and women (hell even ex-lovers, ex-husbands and wives, ex-boyfriends and girlfriends) can, if they get over themselves and their petty issues, actually be friends.  And can do it without wanting to do dirty things to each other.  And more than one person has told me that we gave them hope and that we gave them something to believe in. 

And you didn’t really fold on us.  Real friends are always there.  When you really need it most and when you expect it least.  If you ever need picked up at the hospital, bailed out of jail, swooped from the drunk tank, saved from a bar fight, or scarped off the floor when your whole world comes crashing down around you, a real friend will always be there.  And I’ll always be there.  And he’ll always be there. And he got me through the tough stuff.  And now I’m ok.  And that’s what friends do.  They make it ok again when you think it can’t be.

So I’ll say it again. If, at the end of this long and twisting road of sex, drugs and rock and roll, we meet again, I’ll be there waiting for you with a six-pack of Bud and a bag of stories.  And we’ll toast to the good times, and the bad times, and the tears, and the laughs.  And just remember that I’m never too far away.  And I’m always here if you need a shoulder or a shot to get rid of your tears.  Just remember; always know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.