Okay, let’s talk.
Yesterday my good friend, Raman, guest posted on my blog. We’ve known each other in real life for almost five years. You should probably read her post – The Childchewer – if you haven’t already, because this is my response to it. My version of the truth, if you will.
The gist of it was that we met at camp and she deemed me a “childchewer” because I looked intimidating, but then we somehow turned into really good friends, while having almost nothing in common.
Only in Canada.
I remember her during pre-camp because we had to go around introducing ourselves and when she said we could call her, “Noodles”, everyone laughed. And I made a mental note that I wanted to be friends with her because she seemed to have a sense of humour.
It wasn’t until after camp started that we actually had real conversations, mainly when I would leave some of my kids with her while I went swimming with the rest.
In her version of events, she claims I was 6’7, intimidating, and scary. And from that, she deemed me a childchewer.
In my version, I remember her sitting in a chair at a table, wearing a blue cap that she wore backwards to try and look cool. So if she’s sitting in a chair, of course I’m going to look like a giant.
For the record, I am 6’0 tall on most days. On other days, I’m 5’11 3/4. It all depends on how many numbers I feel like saying at the time.
She didn’t mention that she was only at camp for one month, rather than two. She also failed to mention that we were friends during that one month. It’s not like I walked in a room and she was like, “AHHH CHILDCHEWER”.
Being in the sports program, I was separated from the rest of the camp for most of the day, except for snack time and lunch. I didn’t enjoy that aspect as much, just because I wanted to interact with other campers and counsellors as well, and my time to do that was limited.
Being with a group of 40 boys (ages 6-12) all day was tough, so to keep myself sane there were about 4-5 counsellors I always made an effort to go talk to throughout the day. Raman was one of them.
August rolled around and she was gone, as were most of the people I relied on as a distraction. And that’s when we really became friends and started messaging each other.
It was basically me saying, “Hey, you need to come back and bring the chocolate chip cookies with you.”
On her last day she brought in a container of chocolate chip cookies that tasted like they were express shipped from heaven. Oh my God (literally) they were so good.
In her post, she mentioned something about me sending her a picture of myself making pancakes. Here’s the story behind that, as far as I remember.
At the staff breakfast she organized, which was a Saturday, a bunch of us got an omelette – like a really big, restaurant-sized omelette – myself included. The following Monday, almost everyone who ordered the omelette had a sore throat.
Coincidence? I think not!
I’m assuming the conversation then turned to the fact that she got pancakes and was fine. So I said that I don’t enjoy pancakes from restaurants because they aren’t as good as the homemade pancakes my mom makes.
And then I probably told her that I know how to make pancakes, which she must not have believed since in her head I only eat children.
So I sent her a photo of me looking “thrilled” holding a hand mixer, making pancakes from scratch at a friend’s house while away at university. That was my proof.
I’ll never forget the day I made those pancakes. The pancakes turned out terrible. They were hard like hockey pucks. Too much baking powder. In my defence, it wasn’t my kitchen. To make matters worse, it was a student-housing kitchen, which means the stove had seen more horrors than Jamie Lee Curtis and I was doomed from the start.
It was also a bittersweet day because it was me and five friends hanging out for hours and hours, just having the greatest time. Then we all came to the realization that the six of us should’ve planned to live in a house together, but the moment for that to happen had long passed so there was just an overall feeling of, “what could have been.”
Picture the six main characters in Friends, minus the romantic relationships, and that’s what it would’ve been like.
But yeah, restaurant pancakes can take a hike.
Which brings me to the other foods Raman mentioned in her post, that made me sound weird for not liking.
For the record, I’ve never actually tried chocolate milk. It may taste good. Doesn’t matter to me.
For the record, I’ve never actually tried a burrito. I prefer bread over wraps. In Italian culture, we have cannelloni. I love cannelloni. They look like burritos. Does that count for anything?
I don’t like sushi. I’ve tried sushi and my reaction was, “This is what people go crazy about?” And then I’m told, “Oh you have to try different ones.”
YOU THINK I WANT TO PUT MORE IN MY MOUTH?
Listen, my stomach operates like an economy. The more I eat things I don’t like, the less space I have to eat things I do like. It’s simple opportunity cost.
Please take all of these statements with a large grain of humour. Thank you.
What else was mentioned?
Oh, tea. I can’t do warm drinks. When I have warm soup, I wash it down with a cold drink. If I have a warm drink, what do I wash it down with? Cold soup?
I’ve had tea before and I always want cold water right after because I don’t need my mouth to feel like the Sahara desert.
As for hot chocolate, I’ve outlawed it from my diet ever since I was 5-years-old, participating in the Winter Play Day at school. I got to the rest station in the computer lab and was given a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate.
If you haven’t figured it out by this point, I’ve got an incredible memory for minor details that don’t matter to anyone else.
I can still picture myself drinking from the cup and burning my mouth with it, before someone told me I had to blow on it first. And I knew I had to finish it. There was no dumping it out. So I drank it and didn’t enjoy it. I probably looked for a water fountain afterwards.
If I just criticized a food or beverage you enjoy, I don’t know what to tell you. We’re all different. What you eat, does not matter to me…just as long as you don’t put ketchup on top of your fries like it’s a crime scene.
And if you’re thinking, “Well why don’t you just try the foods you’ve never tried before, in case you like them?” It’s probably stubbornness.
Also, everything in life happens when it’s meant to happen. I feel like I’m in sync with myself (71% of the time) and the reasons why I do, or do not do things. It’s just a feeling. A kind of premonition. I know this sounds so stupid.
But it’s as if different aspects of my life are all building towards the biggest Pay-Pay-View Boxing Match ever, and if I did something before it was the proper time, it would be like giving away the match for free on Cable TV.
Does that make sense to anyone? If it does, we should probably get married because I don’t even know what I just said.
So don’t worry, I will get around to trying all the foods you want me to try. I’m not that stubborn.
This post has trailed so far off path, but it’s me, so what did you expect?
I want to conclude by thanking all of you for the kind messages toward Raman on her post yesterday. I know they made her happy. I also know they made her head really, really big, so I’ll probably have to ignore her for the next week, or so.
Our friendship is hard to explain, but it’s easy for us to understand.
Chew on that.
Tell me about your friendships with people!
That was a terrible prompt, but I’m sticking with it.