My best buddy Marty sent me a picture a few weeks back of what looked like a grilled Guinea Pig with potatoes on a dinner plate. I can only guess that she sent this to me because we’ve got this little private joke that dates back to our preteens when I had Guinea Pigs as pets because my grandmother wouldn’t allow dogs in the house. (This was before the arrival of the blue-eyed puppy I named Syd Vicious).
The following is lifted directly from our mutual emails back and forth:
Marty: I don’t think you’d like Peru. This is one of their dishes there. Guinea Pig!
Me: HOLY SHIT! Did you take this picture which means if you did I might have to seriously reconsider you as my best friend in the universe. If you were just surfing the ‘net and came across this, well then, I’m OK with that.
Which is it? (Please be surfing the ‘net)
Marty: LOL! You are a RIOT! I was looking for a photo of a Mexican dish I’ve had before, Chicharron, (fried pork fat and meat–yummy, but an artery clogger) and then I saw this and thought, “SHIT! Kim would shit a brick if she saw this!” So, that’s what happened. I have eaten rabbit, frog, alligator, snails, and loots of other stuff, but NEVER guinea pig! What kind of person do you think I am?!?!?! HA HA HA HA!
So I can’t help myself whenever I see something relating to Guinea Pigs, Rick Springfield or The Smurfs because that was our weird little language of best friendship back in the early 80’s. Marty wrote dirty lyrics involving Smurfette to the tune of “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and she teased me because I had little piggies for pets.
It’s a good feeling to have a friend in your life that knew you way back when you lusted after Simon LeBon, could expel Cream of Mushroom soup through the nostrils at the slightest joke by her in sixth grade and felt bad about poor Johnny Green.