On November, 30, 1984, Greyloon was born.
We have have been thick as thieves since age 12 or 13. Well, excluding that time I described her in my journal as a “boy crazy-slut.” This was unwarranted as we were both Mormon, homeschooled, and gravely lacking in slutty opportunites. Speaking of opportunities, living together as college freshmen didn’t run so smoothly. The hardest stretch came later, when she left Mormonism and moved in with her boyfriend’s family while I remained [self-] righteous and prayed for her soul.
Aside from those scattered rough patches, we’ve been conferring and confiding for many years. Our ability to read each other fell just short of telepathy. Once, when Greyloon was too exhausted to re-explain her feelings to a stubborn, unwanted suitor, she told him “call Becky.” I was genuinely honored to explain Greyloon’s feelings to that dude via telephone at 3 AM— honored and qualified for the job.
Last Saturday, Mr. Jaunty and I visited the post office to mail a package birthday to Greyloon. I paid to have it arrive before her birthday.
Hélas! Come Monday, the parcel was not winging its way across the country but resting peacefully in my own mailbox.
Somehow, the package had been torn in shipment and its postage sticker knocked off. (Note that Greyloon’s name and address have been digitally removed; don’t blame the post office for that one.)
I’ve been unable to return to the post office and demand justice— and it’s a shame I already recycled my receipt— but fear not; somehow, I will eventually get this totally unexciting birthday gift to my all-time favorite boy-crazy slut.
Until then, happy birthday to Greyloon and to all a good night.