The cruelty of Ms. Bourbonpants

I drove my friend Ch ... oh, shit. I promised I wouldn't write her name tonight. I'll just call her Ms. Bourbonpants. I drove my friend Ms. Bourbonpants home from a top-hatted, steampunky show in an old converted taxi garage that we went to tonight. The band was Ford Theatre Reunion, and they're 4 incredibly talented musicians who amaze me with their wild, abandoned musicianship.

On my way home I was planning the blog post I would write about my so-far-unresolved encounter with Dayton Power and Light the past couple of days. I let my son Drake's dog out to do his business, did my business inside, cut up an apple and dug out a big clump of chunky peanut butter, pulled a blanket over my lap, opened my laptop and saw I had a Facebook message flashing. The post can wait, I thought. I'll answer the message while I eat and then I'll write.

Well, I read the message and all thoughts of ever obtaining electric service, much less writing about it, flew from my head. It was from Ms. Bourbonpants, and this is what it said.

"Drunk messaging you now, because if I don' go to sleep soon, bad things will happen...  (lots of corrections there, or else it wouldn't be readable...) Here's the undedited verions for your enjoymentl;'.

Fucking punctuation.  My children are still awake [laying viedo games what thte fauck is up with that:1!  I can no longer spell fuck. I haave lots of things stuck in my hair that I can't figure out how to get out.  This is pro;ematoc/   WTF.  Prob;ematic.  Goddammit.  PROBLEMATIC.  I might have to sleep with an eyeball in my hair. That's ok it will wath over me, right"?  /creepy'  why do I keeping hitting the back slahp key?  Shalsh.  Fuck.  Slash.   Now I'm laughing.

I need potato chips.

But I think I need water and sleep more than chips.  Holy shit that sintence turned out ok...."

My dear readers, I knew immediately that I had to share this and warn you.  And I mean warn you hard.

This is what happens when you drink and type. I'm sure she meant no harm. I'm sure she was too tipsy to realize how deeply her words would affect me, but, friends, I was devastated.

You do not send a message to your friend about potato chips at 1:30 am when you know your friend can't even keep potato chips in her house because she will eat all the potato chips in the universe and then lick the salt and grease off the inside of the bag. Not if you really love her you don't.

I'm sorry I shouted, but you just don't do that. Friendships are destroyed by that level of drunken carelessness.

I told her I didn't have potato chips and I was making do with an apple and peanut butter. I thought she would hear the pain in my words, the depth of my desire for crunchy, greasy, salty pure carb crispiness. I expected ..... I expected something compassionate, maybe some regret that she had thoughtlessly sent that craving into my poor, weak mind.

I was never so wrong before in my life. I can hardly bear to share it, but this is what she wrote back:

"hahahaha

I HAVW POTATO CHIPS I WIN!!!"

 And I lose. My soul is crushed. Like the topping on my mother's tuna casserole my soul is crushed. I've been googling images of potato chips for the last hour and licking the salt off my fingers, imagining they're really a handful of delicious Lays potato chips .....

Heed this warning and never do this to a friend, no matter how much you've had to drink. 

This public service announcement has been brought to you by Reticulated Writer.