Pray tell: is there anything better in all the world than wine and gossip? I mean a delicious, suck-it-down-and-beg-for-more kind of wine and scandalous, if-you-dare-repeat-any-of-this-I-will-deny-and-destroy-you kind of gossip. It’s what bonding is all about, is it not? That is how relationships are made (ok, and destroyed perhaps, but I’m focusing on the building bit atm, orrite?).
This epiphany struck me on the weekend when my sister came to visit. She’s been away for a few months, she lives in another city, and we’ve been… well… we’ve been drifting for a while. But on Saturday we opened a bottle of wine, Mr D and Mr D-in-something-like-law drank beer (because they are boys) and we talked. And talked. And talked. Waaaaaaay past bedtime, through a late night booby call and into the not-quite-morning-hours-but-close-enough-to-be-scary time.
And we caught up. On everything. Not by actually telling everything, but you know the osmosis takes place as you drink – you talk about the parents and in-laws, you rant about the bloody water sheeting across your yard from the neighbour’s broken downpipe, you fantasise about life without kids and you warn of life with kids, you recommend books and tell stories of drunk cousins pashing strangers, you analyse the psychological baggage of those who shit you to tears and you make plans for triathlons and diets and wild parties that you know will never eventuate because you’re took drunk to be serious. By the end you somehow know everything else that was left unsaid. Yep, it was one of those nights that cements a friendship, however far it may have drifted, and I’ve decided I need more of those.
You see, last week I told the NDM that I had a piss-poor attempt at a posse. That was, in fact, a lie. I have no posse. I suck at friendship and I blame this on the fact that I didn’t get stuck into the wine and gossip until way late due to a mild obsession with swimming up and down a pool really fast.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I made plenty of friends in the chlorine – it’s kind of hard not to bond when you share the intense ups and downs you get at 4am in a mid-winter pool. But what I didn’t realise at the time was that it is the wine and gossip that really seals things. Life after swimming takes you in all kinds of diverging directions and those friendships die natural deaths because the chlorine glue doesn’t exist any more… unless you had the chance to guzzle and gossip.
This combination bridges all lifestyles, all occupations, all moods and temperaments, seasons, distances and dreams. It transcends common interests and creates memories that, when everything else in your lives have gone asunder, remain powerful enough to hold you to ransom. And that’s the kind of glue I need because, as I said, I suck at friendship.
It’s not that I’m a complete bitch, though some would argue otherwise. I’m a good listener, sympathiser, co-conspirator. I am generous and generally tolerant, though sleep deprivation is taking it’s toll. I can be crude, philosophical and, well you’ve seen my blog, I’m downright hilarious, no? What? You’re not laughing?
But I don’t do regular phone calls, I don’t remember birthdays, I don’t like shopping, exercising or going to the toilet in packs and I’ll only do coffee if it fits in with my kids’ nap times. With this list, I’m destined never to have a posse and I’m cool with the whole lone she-wolf thing.
But, if you are ever around, I’m always free for some wine and gossip and who knows what may grow?