Open Letter to Barb

Dear Barb,

As we both know, your parents have been paying me decent money to be your best friend for the last twelve years and, for the most part, it has gone really well, especially for you. Until now, however, we have never fully discussed the terms of our agreement and what better place to begin doing that than here?

You see, I was recently – and quite suddenly – seized with a need to make sure that you will never, ever let this happen to me:

I came across this picture on Twitter. Actually, the picture was tweeted at me and I could probably explain that to you but the last time we saw each other you were adamant that the fax machine was going to revolutionize the education system so I think it’s best not to bother. Twitter, by the way, is bad for both my time-management skills and my karma. I am generally a compassionate sort of person, as you well know, so this picture made me feel a little sad for Jackie Stallone. It also worried me, however, because I’m fairly certain she has people around her who could at least politely hand her a tissue when she needs one if not actually offer her some well-intentioned advice. So where is her best friend, Barb? That’s what I want to know.

In particular, I am concerned with the eyebrows.  Those eyebrows are worrisome. I’ve noticed that mine are thinner now than they used to be and I’m afraid they might just disappear completely one day and show up somewhere less appropriate like my chin or my upper lip. And with my terrible eyesight (thanks Dad), I’m not very confident in my future self’s ability to find errant hairs or draw satisfactory brows.

I have, by the way, already warned my Mum that if I am ever given the chance – one day a long, long time from now so far down the road that it’s almost not worth mentioning – I will very likely amuse myself by fitting the shape of her eyebrows to a mood of my own choosing. You know, one day she could be Angry Nanny, and another day Nanny might be feeling really surprised or maybe she could be overtly suspicious for hours on end. The point is, Barb, we have to have fun with the elderly and my Mum is always up for a good laugh. Also, if she complains, she will end up like this:

So here is the addendum to our ongoing contractual relationship: If we should ever find ourselves living in that Golden Girls condo of our occasional dreams, I will help you to draw nice natural-looking lines above your eyes if you promise to do the same for me. Okay?

Oh, and you can be Rose if you like but I think you make a better Blanche - for obvious reasons. I will be Dorothy, only nicer, because by then my karma will need a lot of work.