I’m not exactly sure why – possibly for entertainment’s sake, maybe for shock value, perhaps out of morbid curiosity – but whatever the reason, my friends and I tend to bat around a lot of “what if” scenarios when we get together.
You know, things like:
What if I walked up to the karaoke mic and just started sobbing?
What if I jumped onto that ladder on the train, just as it was pulling away?
What if I got a neck tattoo of Mr. Peabody from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show?
So it didn’t really faze me when, a few weeks ago at a birthday dinner for a friend of ours, Seamus asked, “What if I made myself faint right now?”
There was a group of about twelve of us sitting at a long table in Buffalo Wild Wings, the place for gourmet chicken wings (an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one). Being of delicate gastrointestinal constitution, I opted to gnaw on a few celery sticks while my friends all transformed into grunting savages, constructing greasy catacombs of chicken bones on either side of me. No one even made eye contact for the first thirty minutes we were there. At one point, I reached for the bleu cheese dip and heard someone hiss.
I peered over the mountain of coagulated cheese fries and crumpled lemon scented handi-wipes, and asked Seamus, “Why would you want to make yourself faint?”
“I don’t know – because I can. I’ve done it before, you know.”
I didn’t buy it.
“When? Tell me when you made yourself faint.”
Seamus licked his fingers, shrugged his shoulders and said, “In high school.”
“That’s disturbing. I think there was an Oprah special on that. It’s some weird sex thing, isn’t it? Wait – don’t answer that. I seriously don’t want to know.”
“No, no, no. It’s just to make yourself faint. It’s kind of fun.”
“You, my friend, are a freak.”
“But really, what if I made myself faint right now?”
“I’d laugh. Then steal your wallet.”
“Okay, I’m gonna try.”
“Dude! We’re in Buffalo Wild Wings! That’s embarrassing enough. Please do not make yourself pass out in a plate of boneless garlic mustard wings. Please?”
An evil grin crossed Seamus’ lips as he got a far away look in his eyes and gently pressed his hands against his neck.
I became increasingly nervous as I watched Seamus’ face become a blotchy shade of crimson. “Seamus! I’m not kidding! Stop it! Seriously – stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
I kicked his shin hard underneath the table, at which point he let out a burst of laughter. Seamus wiped his watery eyes and said, “Dammit, Jenny! I was almost there!”
“Note to self: find sane friends,” I muttered, as I checked to see who was calling on my cell phone.
Later that evening, Lazlo and I met up with Natasha and Farnsworth at a punk bar. The next day, I made a point of telling people that it was a punk bar because I wanted them to know exactly how cool I am. How hip. How down with the punk scene. I mean, I know who The Ramones are. I know, because my friend Deirdre accidentally dressed up as Joey Ramone one Halloween. Her intent was to be Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction, but when people kept saying, “Hey! Awesome Joey Ramone costume,” she just kind of went with it.
Fortunately for me, we had found the only punk bar in town that served food until midnight, so I ordered a cheeseburger to complement the two dozen celery sticks that had sustained me earlier in the evening.
Anyway, as it often does, the topic of conversation switched to my romantic fascination with twins (which, FYI, I am so over now).
Natasha asked, “Okay, what if someone set you up on a blind date with a twin, but didn’t tell you they were conjoined twins?”
“Do you know conjoined twins?”
“Maybe.”
I thought about it for a second and replied, “As long as they were nice, and career oriented, I’d be fine with it.”
“Liar!”
“I’m the liar? I’m the liar? So – somehow in the ten years I’ve known you, you just never mentioned that you were best friends with some conjoined twins?”
“I never said best friends. And you don’t own me! My life is full of mystery!”
Lazlo piped in, “Okay, what about conjoined twins who didn’t know they were twins?”
“Come again?”
“You know, like vestigial twins.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Natasha jumped in, “You know – when the second twin doesn’t fully form, so the main twin just has like, a tuft of hair, or a foot, or teeth growing out of a part of his body.”
“Guys! Geez – I’m not done eating! No wait… bile rising… throat closing… and… I’m done. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I said, shoving my plate aside and tossing my napkin atop the half-eaten burger.
Farnsworth, who up until this point seemed completely oblivious to our conversation, suddenly chimed in, “Come on – that would really bother you?”
“Uh, yeah. Please! Do not even try to tell me that you wouldn’t be freaked out by that! Natasha, back me up on this one!”
Nat tried her best to look angry and said, “Nice, Jenny. You know that my mom has a twin head in her back. Really nice. Aunt Kate is totally sweet, if you’d ever take the time to get to know her.”
“Shut up! Why are you trying to give me another ulcer?”
Lazlo was all too intrigued by the topic. He finished the last of his beer, leaned in and asked, “Wait – so, what if I told you I had a vestigial twin in my arm that was just an upper set of teeth and one non-functioning eyeball?”
“I would vomit and ask you to never again wear short sleeves in my presence.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“That would really bother you?”
“It would repulse me.”
“God, you’re shallow.”
“Like a kiddie pool in a drought.”

Filed under: General on July 29th, 2005