An old friend

An old friend found me and we've been talking. Marv manages a pizza place now and sometimes he calls me between Super-Pepperonis.

Perhaps I should preface this with, "My husband thinks I'm a slut."

See, back in the days before motherhood and marriage, actually in the days directly leading up to motherhood, from a biology point of view, I was friendly. I won't say I was easy, because I did have my standards. But that whole joke about how girls know in the first five minutes whether they're going to do it or not? It's true, and I never wasted much time after that. So Tom, bless his heart, thinks I was easy. And he doesn't judge me for it; he was easy too. But whenever I mention an old friend, he thinks I've slept with him. Especially if it's a long-haired pizza boy. Come on, how many professions let a guy grow his hair out? And I did love the long hair...

Anyway, an old friend found me. Old as in pre-motherhood. Pre stretch marks, pre- telletubbies, pre "to Gardasil or not to Gardasil" (I Gardasiled). He was my friend when I was young and fancy-free, and he was a good friend too. I have missed him over the years. And now I have heard back from him and it's nice.

For one thing, it's nice to hear from someone who has no choice but to picture you skinny. For another thing, it's nice to hear from someone who remembers you before you could name the Telletubbies. By color. With their favorite toys. (ball, hat, skirt, purse) But Tom, well Tom may not understand. Because I was friendly with Marv. He had long hair. He made pizza. What was a girl to do? But Marv was a friend, despite that. And I like talking to him now that he's resurfaced.

So, my faithful reader(s), is it so wrong that I talk to Marv? Would it be wrong to introduce Marv and Tom? Am I too sleepy to blog right now? Any comment would be good. Just.....let 'er rip.