My friend Sam, who doesn’t eat bread, has been a godsend in the last year. The whole being married thing pretty much ended a few months after I met her. (I should add at this point that it was not because of her. As attractive as she is, she isn’t a lesbian, nor am I, so there was no other woman involved in my break up; or man.)
Blimey, did I make that extra complicated?
Anyway, my friend Sam, who doesn’t eat bread, has been a tremendous support on the bad days. She has clocked when I am silent, and recognised this to be a bad thing, but she also quickly worked out that public displays of hugging and enquiries of are you ok? don’t really help me. I don’t really like to show sadness, or particularly ask for help.
But it has felt that whenever the days have felt more gloomy than funny, Sam has sent me a quick message, just showing me she knows and is around if I need her. Or she has loaded me up a barbell with far too many plates. Made me squat out the sadness, (hmmmm, that sounds wrong – but if you squat, you’ll understand), or she has had me lift the grumpiness away, and forced me to over exceed on my expectations of my own strength.
She has allowed me to believe that this girl can.
Friends like Sam, and the four others than surround me at the moment, are amazing.
Sam is here with me, like literally, not in some kind of guardian angel type way. I can actually see her, sitting in her PJ’s, unusually purple nails for her, and hair looking a tad less glamorous than last night.
She is here at La Manga Club, sharing our holiday via instagram, simply loving James Villas.
Oh, my point?
The thing about friends like Sam, is you want to show them how much you care.
Similar to the way she showed me she loved me by stealing my clothes and wearing my underwear on her head when I popped out for a healthy walk one morning.
Which is why, on Tuesday night, I found myself stood, shaking with laughter, in a dry shower, hiding from Sam. Preparing for The Scare…..
Because Sam is a wee bit of a scary cat, who dreams of zombies under her bed and worries about ghosts tickling her toes. And there is no better way to show those you love you care, than by scaring them half to death.
Let me retract.
It had been an evening of games in the villa (because the villa is so bloody nice, you don’t always want to go out, out).
We had consumed lovely food cooked by the chef in our party, SuperSteph, and giggles had flowed along with the wine.
Yes we wore tights on our heads, and tried to knock down bottled water, we played drinking games, but for once were a bit too full of good grub to actually bother over consuming the alcohol. A work out was due the next day and we all wanted to survive.
Finally, our hours spent lazing in the sun caught up with us and we decieded to head to bed.
I told my lovely friend Sam, who does not eat bread, that I was off to bed, and then, I pretended to go to my room on the ground floor; whilst actually skipping upstairs, my fist shoved in my mouth trying to smother my giggles.
It was then I found myself pressed against the cool tiles inside Sams shower, literally holding my tummy and thinking of sad things in an attempt not to laugh.
One by one the girls tripped in to brush their teeth. Naughty Nickie (the one in my blue dress, above), brushed her teeth and I stood silent, the scare was for Sam, to show her I care. However Naughty Nickie made her way from the sink to the toilet and made to unfasten her shorts, so I was forced to give a little knock on the door (scaring is one thing, voyeurism is another).
Nickie squeaked, her eyes wide in fear, quickly I pressed my finger to my lips and she realised the scare was not for her and covered her mouth with her hands. Trembling with giggles she headed out of the door, presumably to find another loo.
Then Sam entered the room, she squeezed toothpaste on her brush and commenced cleaning of her pearly whites. I snorted quietly and bit my hand to prevent anymore outbursts. The brushing carried on, and I bit down hard on my thumb as to not reveal myself.
She stopped, washed her brush, gave her face a quick wipe and then turned to leave.
Then raising both my palms, I beat the shower door like it was a big bass drum, creating a sound of thunder in the room. Sam leapt as if a crowd of mosquitos had penetrated her backside and flung herself through the door, catapulting her entire body through the air, reaching heights a high jumper would aspire to. With a scream of pure terror she flung her tiny frame on her roommate, luscious Liz, and held onto her for dear life.
My tummy muscles ached from laughing and my pelvic floor threatened to give out.
It was a good scare.
I have no doubt she will exact her revenge…..
My lovely friend Sam, who taught me that I can be strong even why I feel a blanket of sadness, and is scared of her own shadow, but lifts like a beast.
We all need friends like Sam! How lovely you have found each other x