Intimacy

Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. Today was that day for Former Flatmate Suzie, poor girl. She said she could feel it when she woke up but she braved it anyway. Out of bed and to the shop for breakfast provisions she went. That's when she realized she had no wallet. She'd lost it somewhere between the cab ride home last night and her front door. Now, this is a woman who, since I've known her, has lost her purse twice. And twice her purse was returned to her with nothing missing. Twice. So I had no real reason to believe that her luck wouldn't hold. She won free tickets to Bob Dylan and got into a U2 concert free remember. But this time, she was a bit frazzled. She texted a friend to see if, perhaps, she had the wallet and decided to kill time by screwing around on the internet. She turned on her months-old Apple laptop, downloaded some upgrades and, upon restarting, was greeted with nothing but a cursor and wallpaper. Could I help her get her icons back, please. Um, no actually. It's been so long since I've worked on Macs that I've no idea where to look, or indeed, what to look for should I discover the secret location of the icons. Between us, we know zero people that work on Macs. Her sister's boyfriend knows someone that does but feeling slightly less than helpful, told FFS to call the help line. Which she did, only to be told that her 3 month free help had expired just last month; did she want to re-sign for 220 euro or just pay 35 euro per call. Neither, thanks. She has no wallet remember. So I told her to throw herself in the shower and pretty up; I was taking her to a lovely lunch because something should go well today.

And lunch was lovely but FFS was increasingly frantic and scattered. Honestly, I've never seen her this rattled. She decided it was a good thing we are no longer in synch because we can function together on one brain (mine) for the weekend but no brain would cause much destruction. One of us would get run over in the street while the other panicked and then wandered into a book store forgetting why she was there and walk out with the latest David Sedaris book.

We parted after lunch, she to go cancel her credit cards and me to re-introduce myself to the concept of grocery stores. And that is where I discovered that in spite of still learning things about her (she's afraid of heights. I didn't know that til lunch) I know her better than my own sister, perhaps. I bought her a gift that I knew would thrill her. You tend to develop a very intimate relationship when you live with someone. For instance, I know that gleam in her eye when she needs to obsessively clean every square inch of the apartment; and to stay out of her way. She doesn't want help, she needs to do it herself. She knows that it's perfectly fine to interrupt me for a chat when I'm reading a book or the newspaper, but that doing so while I'm writing or watching TV will be pointless since nothing in the world exists except that at the moment. She knows my deeply rooted beliefs in relation to gun control and I understand her fervent desire for an espresso machine in her bedroom. (incidentally, worst thing that could happen to her; do not think 'Well that's Christmas done then').

So when I saw it, I knew instantly. If anything could pull her day out of the toilet, other than a computer geek or her wallet, this was it. So I called over to her, told her it was better than chocolate and presented her with a packet of Toilet Duck refill brushes. She screamed, laughed, grabbed them out of my hand, did a little happy dance, punched the air repeatedly and pronounced me "Super!". (which of course, I am) She once bought me replacement sponges for the kitchen scrubber (we're big on scrubbers apparently) and I was over the moon. I kept forgetting to buy them and was pretty disgusted by ours. She happened across the, remembered how squeamish I was becoming about the whole ordeal and picked them up for me. It was a brilliant gift.

That's the secret to buying a really good gift I've learned: listen to what people say they want and then get exactly that. It has nothing to do with price or the latest gadget, or, more importantly, the Giver; it has everything to do with the Receiver and what is important to him. She got me sponges, I got her a toilet brush. Now that's what I call intimacy.

Hope tomorrow is better for ya, Suze.