My Best Friend Stole My Face

Here’s the deal: you most certainly do not have to read this. It probably won’t interest you anyway. There is no nudity. There are no dance floor make-outs. I will not unveil my political preference. I cannot fix the economy in three long-winded paragraphs with Ivy League language.

But, I can tell you a story. A funny story. A story that starts like this; my best friend Blair stole my face.

It’s true, we look exactly alike. For 25 years we’ve looked exactly alike. We used to be all “nooo my eyes are cattier” or “nooo, I have darker roots in our similarly highlighted hair.”  But truth be told, girlfriend could be my sister. Ok fine, my twin.

So what to do, two girls, both friends, fending off countless parents mistaking them for one another? Have a little fun I guess. Well, a lot of fun. Oh gosh, maybe too much fun.

Exhibit A.

Flash backward, circa 2008, Chris Brown (pre Rihanna) Concert. It’s the Kiss, Kiss tour; Blair and I were there. She, in some sort of hippie ensemble (girlfriend likes her hippie gear). Me, in some God-awful Michael Star and cowboy boot monstrosity. We looked “hottt,” were on the prowl and up to no good.

Conveniently, to our left were two country-looking boys. Both cute in a need to have a ladder to get into their F-250 sort of way. On stage was the Official Countdown to Chris Brown.

15, 14.59, 14.58. 14.57, 14.56 to Kiss, Kiss.

I looked over to my like-minded, like-faced friend and said, “let’s have a little fun.”

We sashayed over to our country prey. Blair, eyeing the spunky alternative-T, cowboy-hipster hybrid. Me, sticking with good ole varsity blues to his right. Poor boy had high school nostalgia written all over his big, blue eyes.

Naturally, flirting commenced. Lots of “stop it, no you stop it, no seriously stop it, no you.” Varsity blues was cute….and engaging. He asked all about my family. My dad in banking. My sister knee-deep in soon-to-be-housewife happiness. My favorite Chris Brown dance move (again, pre-Rihanna, don’t judge). We were smiling, laughing, chatting, yee-hawing. Time was moving fast. Faster than expected. It was time to act. Flirting could not distract me from my master plan.

10.35, 10.34, 10.32, 10.31 to Kiss, Kiss.

Mischievously, I looked to Blair, “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” She cocked her head to the side and said, “Sure.” One mischievous look and she knew. As soon as we started off to the nearest restroom, she said, “We’re going to switch clothing, aren’t we?” The “Duh” could not have resonated louder if Chris Brown had sung it himself. We had to hurry though. We didn’t have much time — hippie gear has a lot of fabric to figure out.

Quickly we exchanged, true religion jeans with a free people floral number. Boots with a pair of jesus sandals. We looked, well, a whole lot like the other.

5.23, 5.22, 5.21 to Kiss, Kiss.

We both entered the row hesitantly, varsity blues grinning, only he was no longer my object of affection. It was hipster-hybrid I (well technically Blair) was after now. I approached him timidly and smiled. A million dollar, 10-tooth smile. Blair is good at those. Everyone always compliments her on her smile. He bought it, every last tooth of it.  One smile and a higher-pitched, “Now, what were you saying?” and I was in.

I looked over to Blair. She was flawlessly emulating me. She had my deep raspy voice nailed, rattling off information about a fear of dolphins…Constant cravings for hot dogs… Dislike of Christmas music… Love of frat boys, specifically Phi Delta Theta. And here’s the kicker, she was locking him in with “the look,” my look. A smooth combination insinuating, I could rock your world but you’ll have to date me first, all in two bats of a lash. It was a signature. She was playing dirty.

I intended on doing the same. Two could play at this game. After all, I knew her tricks too. I started with a lot of casual bicep grabs. Some playful giggling. Two random twirls and a little, “Whoaa, do you work out? Wwwwait, I’m like really diggginn’ The Whigs right now too! OMG, we’re music soul mates. I knowww, Chris Brown? Totttally mainstream.”

It was exaggerated role-play at it’s finest. Exactly what we’d be like if MTV was editing us. It was hilarious. I mean, it was hard enough being Blair with how funny, similar, and stupid Kate sounded. I didn’t want to stop. I hadn’t even gotten to admitting my (well, her) love for the Indigo Girls but time was running out.

2.12, 2.11, 2.10 to Kiss, Kiss.

Blair (now, Kate) looked at me and said,

Blair: “Hey Blair, you about ready to head back, Blair?”

Kate: “Sure Kate, we probably should before it starts, Kate.”

Blair: “Ok, Blair.”

Kate: “Sounds good, Kate…”

A sideways hug, one awkward half lip/half cheek make out thingie, and two fake numbers were exchanged. We did it! No seriously, we did it. Merely seconds until Chris Brown took the stage and we had gotten ourselves our first and only souvenir. One intricate story few will believe and our future husband’s will wish never happened. Have good day, everybody.

Image from http://www.soundonsight.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/tumblr_l7mh1qDMcx1qbmt20.jpg

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