FILTHY TURKEY

I’ve had the same best friends since grade 9.  The three of us have maintained a tight bond; following one another through high school and university and now living within an hour of one another.  It’s a tight little family we have created with love and determination.

One thing I have been lucky to learn about having best friends in your 30’s is that the veil of insecurity you wore when you were 13 has been lifted.  You can share basically anything – from ugly, to sad, to hilarious and occasionally even smelly.

An accidental boob flash while swapping tops isn’t met with screams and points, but rather a shoulder shrug and maybe even a casual, off the cuff compliment, “your boobs still look good”.  In a nutshell we’re comfortable, humble, and unwavering.  It’s a lovely place to be in a friendship… the fat has been trimmed and it’s simply compatible humans interacting with freedom, laughter and support.

Over the past months my best friend and I have invented a new game called “what body part is this?” Essentially during our busy work days one of us will send a random text photo of a body part up close and force the other to guess what it is.  It typically looks incredibly rude but always ends up being something as innocent as a skin fold in your closed fist or the fleshy crease of an armpit.  We love the game and were quite proud of our vanilla nod in the direction of risqué photo sessions. 

I received a glorious image on Thanksgiving Sunday – a pink supple mound of flesh with rolling hills of folds and wrinkles!  Of course it was simply her clenched fingers.  I thought to myself, we’re old enough, mature enough, I’m going to pull out the Holiday Big Guns and simply show this game who’s boss!  I’m going to win it for once and for all and simply take a photo of something on my body, that doesn’t just LOOK rude but IS rude.  I’m going to take a close up, semi obscure photo of “it” and send it to her and make her guess what it is!  It will be hilarious!  There will be no judgement because we are that close now and we’ve known each other for so long that it’s essentially closer to medical than it is to sexual. 

So my iPhone camera traveled up the skirt and with careful yoga like manoeuvring I captured a shot that was both subtle and tasteful.  I sent it off and immediately felt a rush of excitement!  How thrilling that you can live so openly with your friends at this stage in your life without the fear of being ridiculed on Monday morning!  I’m so edgy and confident and forward thinking- BING!  The sound of a received text interrupts my momentary mental back patting!  It’s her, she’s responded…

Text reads: “J’s dad [best friend’s father in law] thinks it’s a picture of a mouth, my guess is a turkey”

I read it silently three or four times before it sinks in.  Holy Shit.  I have just sent my best friend a text of my vagina while she has been OPENLY playing the game at her husband’s family dinner!  I have just showed my best friend, her husband and HIS entire family a shot of my Cooter! 

How do I even respond to this text?

In a panic I phone her – I ask her right away if I am on speaker phone or if anyone can hear me, she chuckles at my intensity, unaware of the bomb I’m about to drop.

“It was it! The picture was real!  It was the real thing this time!  You showed everyone!  I sent you the real picture to win the game not knowing you would show everyone!!!!”  I hear shocked silence and then the classic best friend howl- it goes on with full gusto for some time… she’s dying and so am I… she breaks for a moment and yells to the family waiting for an answer on what body part IT was… “It was the Turkey, I was right”.

She hangs up the phone and returns to her mashed potatoes, gravy and in-law small talk while I’m left alone with the following Thanksgiving sentiments…

  1. Being in your 30’s does not make you impenetrable from embarrassment, it does make it easier though.
  2. Taking photos of your bits rarely goes as planned.
  3.  I’m so thankful for my best friends.
  4.  A Turkey, really?

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Do you love Erica Moore as much as we do?
Then check these out: The Post about PooLosing My Postnatal Virginity, and Fat Mom.

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