I’ve a friend in education who has casual friends. She’s rather like a doctor — everyone gets her attention, whether they need the whole 3 minutes or not. Imagine updating lives mutually in 3 minutes. There’s not much mutuality or updating, really. It’s as if you’re going to see each other again in a day or so, yet that’s not and has never been the case.
I actually had to look up the definition of casual to see if there’s anything casual about me beyond my *wardrobe.* (I outdress DH — newborns, do, too — but I’ll never outdress you!)
Somewhere along the way, I have equated casual with shallow. It amazes me that shallow friendship works for so many. I wish I could believe otherwise, but I myself have to sear and singe and simmer and soar, blow hot and hotter and sappy, get almost drunk and roll hilariously down the stairs after peeing behind a car in a parking lot (and maybe even mingle wrist blood) with you in order to call you friend. (Yes, e-blood works, too, though not e-pee.)
I embody the Hemingway joke about why the chicken crossed the road (“To die.. alone.. in the rain”). I provide my own antidote to that, though, sometimes with a Mae West impression.
So much rebellion against one little word.. *sigh..
(My apologies to the several nations who don’t usually look in, who looked in today… come back when I’m being normal, okay?)