I asked what to write about. I was thinking out loud. I didn’t expect an answer. I expected to sit for five more minutes until I figured out something to say.
But I got an answer. And an enthusiastic one! “The fact that your awesome friend Sam is here!” And here we are now.
I have a 10:10 deadline tomorrow morning which I’m desperately trying to meet. I’ll meet it. I haven’t been late yet. But anyways! Sam!
So Sam and I met when we were 12. I hated her. Because when I was 12, I was stupid. Also jealous because she’s, like, crazy-smart in a way that I’ll never quite be. I’m smart, but I’m a different kind of smart.
So anyways, I had a secret loathing for her for about six months. And then, as my brain started rationalizing, I came to like her. And as I became more of myself, more of who I am today, I came to love her.
Sam helped me through a lot of hard times. (She caused some, too, but so did I, for her.) She was there when I was in some of the deepest bits of my depression, which can’t have been easy. I really appreciate that.
And now she has pink hair. Which is pretty great. Here’s an anecdote (the climax of which has already been spoiled for you.) One night, lo eleven o’clock, Sam decided she wanted purple hair. And she went to Shoppers Drug Mart, and she bought hair dye. And so, she dyed her hair, as I chatted with her on Skype. She bleached it, and looked ridiculous. (Sam should never go blond.) And then she put the dye in, and looked like a total badass. And to this day, as much as a week later, looks way cooler than I, and consequently gets hit on way more often than I.
It turned out more pink than purple, though. But still, a badass pink. A hard-core, “Eat it, Barbie!” kind of pink. An “I’m not scared to be girly or punk!” kind of pink. A “So what if I display hipster-like qualities!?” kind of pink.
And that, friends, is Sam.