The friendship is still alive, which is more than I can say for the Sea Monkeys.

Tonight a really close friend called. I was in bed with a cold and I heard my husband on the phone. It only took me a few minutes to figure out who was on the other end of the line. My husband was laughing and joking, just like old times.

It was David (name changed to protect the innocent- me), our best man. We've known him since college. David and my husband were good friends when I first met my husband. Whenever you saw one of them, the other was there, too. If they were sorority sisters they would have been seen giggling a lot, but since they were, well, guys, they were usually seen just looking at the sorority sisters.

I don't know if David and hubby became friends because of common interests or because they were both always broke and decided to pool their money to buy Ramen noodles and generic mac and cheese. Sometimes they would help each other cook for dates and they would argue about how much garlic should go in the sauce or whether or not this date was worthy of Kool Aid. To hear my husband tell it, he was helping David cook most of the time and letting David use his pots and pans. Sometimes they worked on college papers in the wee hours of the morning, the night before the paper was due, of course. For whatever reason, they bonded, and they've been friends ever since.

Sometimes months will go by without them talking. That's OK. It only takes a minute on the phone and they are back to their old antics, making fun of each other, calling each other names, the stuff all male friends do to lay the foundation for a lifelong friendship.

David has been there for us on many occasions. One time while we were dating, hubby and I took a road trip to look at cars. Hubby was determined to buy a Saturn and we had to travel several hours to the nearest dealer. On the way back, my little Honda broke down on the interstate. After crying (me, not hubby) and calling a tow truck, we ended up at a nearby Hardee's. It was David who drove the hour trip to rescue us in the middle of the night.

I don't even think I gave him any money for gas. In case you're reading this, Dave, I'll be sure to send that to you ASAP.

David was there for us when we got married- decorating my car with some lovely phrases and jokes, along with some other very close friends in the wedding party. He calls and asks about our daughter, too. This says a lot about him, because he isn't married and doesn't have kids of his own (yet.) Most single guys aren't interested in children's poetry contests or whether a kid has lost her first tooth.

When David called us tonight, he was on a real live stake-out. Yes, ma'am. He is tough like that.

I can't say what he does because he might hurt me, but he is one of those people you either fear or respect. One of those guys with a badge and dark glasses.


When I overheard that he was on a stake-out, I thought he was kidding. About 95% of the time the stuff he and my husband say to each other is pure nonsense. They convinced me in college that they knew how to speak Vietnamese and that David was born in Vietnam. I was so naive then.

David is the friend who is always sending my daughter really cool presents that require food and water, like sea monkeys.


I would like to announce that I am putting my foot down. No more gifts labeled "Department of Agriculture."

One summer he sent an ant farm. The ants came separately in a brown paper envelope, the kind that Sydney Bristow would leave at a drop-off site. I carefully opened the package and found ants in a little vial. The instructions read to "Place ants in the refrigerator for a few minutes to cool them, making them less aggressive." I told our daughter that the ants were hot from the trip and they needed to cool off.

When I took the ants out of the frig., they were all clumped together, a mass of tiny legs and bodies, huddling with each other for warmth. It looked almost sad.

But then I remembered they were ants and I had to put them in their new home without being stung or squishing any of them. My daughter is the bug whisperer, remember?

And here's a tip. The ant house people and the ant supply people need to do lunch. The opening to the ant vial is much larger than the opening to the ant house, making it difficult to pour the slightly cooled ants into their new home without spilling them all over the table.

Insert pleas and cries for help from the Bug Whisperer.

I managed to keep the ants alive much longer than the sea monkeys. In addition, we have raised butterflies and have a frog house ready for tadpoles this spring.

Stop the madness, Dave. Send Barbies, will you?

I have to say that I do feel a little safer at night knowing David is out there, looking for the truth, protecting families while talking on his cell phone about college hi jinx.



No, really. I do. And if I didn't, I couldn't tell you. David packs some heat. And, if I remember correctly from a college party, he makes a mean pan of Rice Krispies treats.

:>)