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April 25, 2025
Discussions with Very Best Friend
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
The point of having a Very Best Friend is to be able to discuss totally weird things. Like crazy ex-boyfriend choices, turkey necks and arms that now jiggle. Guys, here’s how a woman’s brain works. No wonder you never listen to us.
Wandering around the grocery store, I stumbled across 327 different varieties of spaghetti sauce. One stuck out – Sensitive Marinara. I laughed so hard; I terrified a shopper searching for gluten-free anything. I immediately shot a photo and texted VBF.
Let me take a moment to explain she has four daughters with assorted boyfriends who she feeds weekly at Sunday Night Dinner. One of these women only eats fish, one’s a vegetarian (except for bacon), one can’t eat onions or garlic. The only normal one eats anything; her significant other can look at a can of Planters Peanuts and have an allergic reaction. Talk about a sensitive group.
ME: Can you believe that Spaghetti Sauce has developed an attitude? I mean, Sensitive Marinara?
VBF: What? Wait, let me look at the label.
ME: I’m still laughing, and I’ve told everyone on the pasta aisle about it.
VBF: Oh, this is perfect for one of the daughters! It doesn’t have onions or garlic!
ME: I think it’s obvious this sauce needs counseling and so does she.
And then there’s always my favorite – commercials for the latest drugs that will make you laugh, dance and sing. Funny, I don’t pop any pills that make me want to exercise, much less dance. But then I saw a commercial for a new over-the-counter pill that we needed to discuss.
ME: I’ve found the answer to all our problems! A pill that doesn't promise to make us laugh, dance and sing.
VBF: Hopefully it’s something that will help me remember why I walked into this room.
ME: Nope, but it does do three things that might interest you.
VBF: Like what? Make everything perky again?
ME: It helps you lose weight, improves your mental health, and gives you thicker hair all in one little pill.
VBF: You had me at lose weight, which would make me happier, plus now I might be able to grow a gray ponytail.
Frankly, I’m proud I haven’t needed a “specialist doctor,” as my body hasn’t totally fallen apart – yet. VBF has specialists for everything because she’s always had weird stuff like Bora Bora disease. But yesterday I was thrown into the specialist world via my new chiropractor. When he X-rayed my back, he sat me down to discuss the results.
“Popping your back should fix you, but see that place right there? You’ve got a whatchamadoodle which means you might drop dead so I’m recommending you go to a cardiologist. And there it was. An evil specialist.”
Immediately I called Very Best Friend.
ME: Oh no! I must go to a cardiologist to get my thingamajig checked before I drop dead and can’t write any more columns.
VBF: I’ve had a cardiologist for years, even though I don’t have any problems with my heart. I just like to visit him because he’s so cute. Who did he recommend?
ME: Dr. Heart.
VBF: Hey! That’s my doctor. Now we have the same specialist, I have that thingamajig, too. It’s no big deal. I’m sure you can keep being funny until the dementia kicks in. Of course, then you might be funnier.
Instead of worrying about the upcoming specialists in my life, I think I might switch to Sensitive Marinara, so I’ll probably be just fine.
Wandering around the grocery store, I stumbled across 327 different varieties of spaghetti sauce. One stuck out – Sensitive Marinara. I laughed so hard; I terrified a shopper searching for gluten-free anything. I immediately shot a photo and texted VBF.
Let me take a moment to explain she has four daughters with assorted boyfriends who she feeds weekly at Sunday Night Dinner. One of these women only eats fish, one’s a vegetarian (except for bacon), one can’t eat onions or garlic. The only normal one eats anything; her significant other can look at a can of Planters Peanuts and have an allergic reaction. Talk about a sensitive group.
ME: Can you believe that Spaghetti Sauce has developed an attitude? I mean, Sensitive Marinara?
VBF: What? Wait, let me look at the label.
ME: I’m still laughing, and I’ve told everyone on the pasta aisle about it.
VBF: Oh, this is perfect for one of the daughters! It doesn’t have onions or garlic!
ME: I think it’s obvious this sauce needs counseling and so does she.
And then there’s always my favorite – commercials for the latest drugs that will make you laugh, dance and sing. Funny, I don’t pop any pills that make me want to exercise, much less dance. But then I saw a commercial for a new over-the-counter pill that we needed to discuss.
ME: I’ve found the answer to all our problems! A pill that doesn't promise to make us laugh, dance and sing.
VBF: Hopefully it’s something that will help me remember why I walked into this room.
ME: Nope, but it does do three things that might interest you.
VBF: Like what? Make everything perky again?
ME: It helps you lose weight, improves your mental health, and gives you thicker hair all in one little pill.
VBF: You had me at lose weight, which would make me happier, plus now I might be able to grow a gray ponytail.
Frankly, I’m proud I haven’t needed a “specialist doctor,” as my body hasn’t totally fallen apart – yet. VBF has specialists for everything because she’s always had weird stuff like Bora Bora disease. But yesterday I was thrown into the specialist world via my new chiropractor. When he X-rayed my back, he sat me down to discuss the results.
“Popping your back should fix you, but see that place right there? You’ve got a whatchamadoodle which means you might drop dead so I’m recommending you go to a cardiologist. And there it was. An evil specialist.”
Immediately I called Very Best Friend.
ME: Oh no! I must go to a cardiologist to get my thingamajig checked before I drop dead and can’t write any more columns.
VBF: I’ve had a cardiologist for years, even though I don’t have any problems with my heart. I just like to visit him because he’s so cute. Who did he recommend?
ME: Dr. Heart.
VBF: Hey! That’s my doctor. Now we have the same specialist, I have that thingamajig, too. It’s no big deal. I’m sure you can keep being funny until the dementia kicks in. Of course, then you might be funnier.
Instead of worrying about the upcoming specialists in my life, I think I might switch to Sensitive Marinara, so I’ll probably be just fine.