I’ve got this fabulously funny blog reader in Ontario, Canada. Her name is Sara (from My Mother’s Daughter) and she’s been a loyal reader pretty much since I launched the Lance five years ago. Our relationship began over a boob cake, but more on that later.
We didn’t know each other prior to blogging. She simply started reading my stuff and I started reading her stuff. From there we became good ‘ol fashioned internet friends bound by what I can only describe as identical sensibilities, a crude vocabulary, a compulsion to share crazy ass stories and a love of the song Shoop.
We’re goofballs separated at birth.
Mutual blog affection led to random email exchanges. Sara’s emails usually began with sentences like, “Warning: the following story is gross.” Or “My friend is going to be on TLC tonight with her daughter who has dwarfism.” Or “I dyed my hair really dark last night and a girl at work told me it gave me a crazy look in my eyes.” Or “My mom just told me old age is causing her to lose the ability to control her farts.” Or “You make my ovaries dance.”
Sometimes she’d write nothing and attach a red carpet photo of Tina Yothers, whom she resembles. The subject line: “Jennifer – Family Ties.”
For Christmas one year Sara mailed me my favorite Tim Horton’s coffee, complete with a Timmy Ho’s mug. The package arrived ON Christmas. (I still don’t know how this happened. The mail doesn’t come on Christmas.) And soon after Henry was born she mailed me a children’s book about a bear in tighty whities. Does she know me or what?
So when I learned that she and some friends were renting a vacation house this month in Palmetto, we immediately made plans to get together and meet face-to-face. Her friends thought this was nuts.
