Lukewarm beer & mediocre mousse

(As promised, Jelly, this one's for you...)

Last night I attended a Longaberger fundraiser to support breast cancer research and treatment - it was their annual Horizon of Hope event, and it's always a good time. For the past three years, my best friend and I have made an occasion of going. We play bingo, we buy 50/50 tickets, we do the auction thing...in other words, we spend a lot of money to lose a lot of different ways.

But I don't think that's why we go. She can correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure this now-annual tradition has strangely become a big part of our friendship. Of course we care about ending breast cancer (doesn't everyone?), and of course we like to throw our support behind Angel, who's a Longaberger consultant and an all-around great gal. I don't believe, though, that either of us is altruistic enough to go with only those two goals in mind.

There's something most fundraisers have in common - the food, typical banquet fare prepared for a small army, is fairly bland; the company one must keep (especially when seated at a table of unfamiliar faces) is questionable; and you are almost guaranteed to lose every dollar you pay for those useless paper tickets they give you in return.

But there is something priceless in sitting next to your slightly tipsy (because you forced a cosmo upon her) BFF and her mom, doubled over in hysterics over the time you called her ten days before her birthday and cleverly teased, "Who's having a birthday today?", only to hear, "I don't know - who?!" in return. (Guess you had to be there - but seriously, it was hilarious. My uncertain response to her response was something like, "Um, yours?") Even when you're very slowly nursing a lukewarm Yuengling and taste-testing a mediocre, only slightly chocolaty mousse, that kind of laughter makes the whole event worthwhile. And of course the fundraisers must know that, because aren't there a million other ways to raise money? Yet, when all is said and done, it's valuable in more than one way to have a bunch of friends sitting around a large banquet room, battling it out over pig-in-a-pen bingo and talking trash.

Why does any of this matter? Well, because sometimes (just sometimes) I have a hard time remembering how Maureen and I got to be best friends. I frequently remember odd situations over which we've bonded - for instance, my favorite green khakis with the giant bleach stain on the ass (she was the only person nice enough to tell me about it...and that was before we even really knew each other). One of my favorite things about her is that she's the kind of person who doesn't give up on friends - she knew probably from the start that I wasn't really the BFF kind of gal. She didn't take offense to the fact that for an entire summer during which we worked together, I sat at a table all the way across from her during lunch because I'm a claustrophobic eater with a large personal bubble. She did, however, gradually coach me to move within easy speaking distance until finally I was sitting next to her at the lunch table.

Maureen is the kind of person who looks at you like "I want a hug" even when she knows you're not the hugging type. She keeps a respectful distance because she knows that eventually, you will have to cave to the unspoken demand. She will patiently wait until you come around to seeing that friendship is about more than being on the same page all the time. At least, that's what she did with me - and I'm not easy to love.

There aren't too many people with whom I would venture to a fundraiser where I am sure to be uncomfortable (you know, the whole personal space thing...), lose all my money, and eat less-than-gourmet fare for gourmet prices. But, Jelly, you know I'd do it for you :)

t.