I asked my best friend a simple question a few minutes ago. My male best friend, pretty much the only male in whom I haven't completely given up interest. I just asked him what color my eyes are.
He said he doesn't know. We've been good friends since the seventh grade - that's five years! Five years! - and he still doesn't know the color of my eyes. Has he never so much as looked at my eyes?
I thought it might be the end. Of whatever. He had failed me enough times before, hadn't been there when I needed him, but not to know, after five years of friendship, that my eyes are green!
So I was on the verge of despair, when he made his excuse. He says he doesn't ever notice the color of anybody's eyes, not even his own mother's. I believe him, but it's still odd. But I guess I can't blame him for not noticing my eye color after five years of friendship if he still doesn't know his own mother's after seventeen years of filial cohabitation.
So it's another straw on the camel's back. But not the final straw, if only because there's no one on whom I could fall back if I lost him. And his excuse was pretty good, and sincere and all, but then again his excuses always are. There are probably only so many of them that can be tolerated.
New events having transpired since I was forced to leave before submitting this entry:
There's a mountain (or hill, or whatever you want to label it) here in town that is sort of a key feature of the city. It always has people on its summit, just visible as specks. Anyway, I made a comment to my mother about how I need to ask my new acquaintance (almost friend, but I have a pretty narrow definition of friend), who recently moved here, whether he has climbed the mountain yet, because that's something everyone needs to do before he can be truly considered a resident of this town.
The problem is, this new friend (it's a shorter word than acquaintance, and therefore more convenient) is not in any of my classes. I met him at a Gay-Straight Alliance meeting. He is gay, rather flamboyantly so. But my mother doesn't know I've been to any Gay-Straight Alliance meetings (nor does anybody, except the Alliance members themselves), so I had some trouble explaining how I had met this new guy without having any classes with him. My explanation was unsatisfactory, mostly just lamely saying that he's a very gregarious person and has already befriended pretty much everybody in the school. Which is true. But kind of passes over the important details.
So then my mom went into this rambling jest about how maybe he wanted to talk to me because he noticed how pretty I am. That would have been a good time to inform her that, actually, he doesn't even like girls, but since I most inconveniently don't often say anything without considering it for at least a few minutes first (this frequently results in similarly uncomfortable situations, but there isn't much I can do to change it), I missed that opportunity. So she continued, about how mysterious I am, and aloof, and how lots of guys probably find that really attractive, and how she expects there are a couple of guys out there who secretly admire me, blah, blah, blah... Very awkward. Because of course, half the guys at my school don't even know I'm a girl, and the rest definitely don't care. Other girls with faces like mine smile and talk. Other girls with bodies like mine (skinny and nearly flat-chested) wear women's size small camisoles - I wear those as undershirts, sure, but over them I wear men's size medium t-shirts, and over them, a completely ineffective posture brace (my slouch is incurable, I think), and over that, men's size large dress shirts. So if anyone can even tell I'm a girl under all that, he's not going to find me attractive. I don't really mind; sure, thinking people are attracted to me gives me a sense of power, but it's not like I'm trying to attract dates, male or female.
Which, by a link that exists in my mind but doesn't seem to appear in the text, brings me back to my longtime friend, possibly my last shot at being straight, who doesn't even know what color my eyes are.
Somehow, the word 'Phooey' doesn't seem to cover it. Nor does 'Crap.'