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My Frenemy

 My frenemy arrived on time to my child's birthday.


"As you know," he said, "my own son will be turning one next week."

I did know this. I knew because I'd received the elaborate invitation, which looked like something Rose Byrne had cooked up in Bridesmaids. It had made me feel bad about my own invitations, which are lacking in the departments of photography and graphic design.

"I've really decided to go all-out for my kid's party," said my frenemy. "Now that the pandemic is calming down, you know. I've hired a face-painter."

It's my belief that a one-year-old doesn't need face paint. It's my belief that a baby can be fascinated by a pebble, an acorn, and a twig. I kept these thoughts to myself.

"Did you join the community pool?" asked my frenemy, and my husband said, "Yes!" My husband was excited.

"We considered the option," said my frenemy. "But, then, our neighbor has an in-ground pool....with heating.....and she said, Stop by anytime. So it's a little way to save money!"

I skated off; I had prayed to Martha Stewart, and to Emily Post, all morning.

I kept my journal and my pencil close at hand.
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