One Phone Call

My friend Carrie is a handful.

When we met, she had a super hippie boyfriend who had a beard and loved to smoke reefer and play with audio engineering. And he probably played the guitar-acoustic. But I don't recall.

Then, the boyfriend left Carrie for the great state of Texas, his home territory. She was devastated because they were fine in their relationship. He just couldn't make it in Los Angeles.

So Carrie did what any heart broken girl with a bad attitude and a penchant for the dramatic would do- she went on a rampage. She had only been with a couple of guys prior to the hippie boyfriend. Maybe none. I don't recall.

But when he left? Sistah racked em up. She'd go out to bars and end up with a fella next to her in the morning, stinking up the place. She'd kick him out and call in the next one. Girl was on a roll.

So I did what any good girlfriend would do - I instituted the One Phone Call Rule.

From that point on, Carrie was not allowed to go home with (or get naked in the parking lot with) any boy that she hadn't talked to on the phone at least once before. And calling each other on cell phones while at the bar didn't count as the one call.

She was okay with it for a little while until one night when we met some very cute boys at a sleazy Irish pub somewhere in the San Fernando Valley.

Carrie looked so cute that night- in a halter top, tight pants, heels, and her fake Kate Spade cherry handbag. She knew she was rocking it when one of the cute boys insisted on making out with her in the bar. And she was more than a little bit tipsy.
When closing time rolled around, we all spilled out of the bar. I was not drinking at the time, so I could tell that Carrie was being sneaky and trying to get around the One Phone Call Rule. I denied her any further access to the boy after they exchanged phone numbers.

She tried giving him her address, but I was staying over. She tried running away, but she was in heels and drunk and got only about five feet- around the corner of the bar. She gave up on trying to work around me and just got mad.

After the seven-hundreth time of begging me to let this one go and me refusing, she got so upset that she tossed her fake Kate Spade cherry handbag onto the ground, followed it with my car keys- onto the sidewalk, and stomped, crossed her arms, and wailed about my stupid rules.

I calmly picked the keys up, left the purse, and headed toward the car. She followed, laughing and yelling at me at regular intervals.

When she woke up the following morning, I reminded her of what happened and all she wanted to know was- IS MY FAKE KATE SPADE OKAY?!! And it was.

I was just happy that she didn't fling herself onto the concrete for a full-on tantrum. But she had enough sense to avoid that, this time.