I woke up yesterday to a text from a dear friend, who lives in another city. I have known her my entire adult life, so, I felt certain I knew a lot about her. But she sent me a text at 2AM that said:
“The fat one won’t fit in the wood chipper. What do you want me to do?”
Yeah. Exactly. Shades of Fargo, right?
Well, I reasoned, she does live on a lot of land and does a lot of outdoor type stuff, so maybe she really was, for some reason, chipping wood (that’s an actual thing, right?) and had sent the text to the wrong person. Because we all know I am worthless in any kind of outdoor situation, let alone an outdoor situation that involves machinery.
As far as I know, and I feel pretty certain about this, she has never harmed anyone and/or shoved anyone into a wood chipper. So I wasn’t too concerned. Still though…I texted back and said:
“Umm, what exactly is going on in [name of her city]?”
I won’t say where she lives because it might give away her identity to mutual friends who would probably want to mock her. And I think I’m doing enough of that for all of us.
Then I waited. I had a lovely day hanging out at CJ and Lisa’s pool, but kept an eye on my phone because Wood Chipper Girl was still on the loose. She finally texted back:
And it made me laugh out loud, because it’s such a brilliant idea. Right? So I told her I love her, because I do, and then I got back into the pool because it was hot out. I floated around with barely any thoughts at all about who or what might be in a wood chipper somewhere. And I certainly didn’t think about that terrifying clown. Not for a minute.
But I might watch Fargo again, because, wood chipper.