Michael Matters

Five years ago today, my best friend didn’t want to celebrate her birthday. I told her we didn’t need to have a big celebration, we’d  just get sushi with some friends and go home. She adamantly refused and I asked her why she was being boring. We got in the first and last fight we’ve ever been in because of it and I planned on doing nothing for her birthday. Nothing at all.  As I walked down the hallway to our apartment on the day of her boring, lame birthday I heard music coming from our doorway.

“That’s weird,” I thought.  ”She was supposed to be at work. And also being stupid and not partying…”

I opened the door and there stood my friend, completely wasted, talking to what looked like a homeless man in our living room.

“Hieeeeee!” she yelled over the Paul’s Boutique tracks she was blaring. “This is Michael!!!!!!”

“What? Hi Michael.” He tipped his Miller Light in the air at me and didn’t say a word. ” Who is Michael? Why is Michael here?” I asked. (Which really meant, “Why does Michael smell like Indiana, rotten cheese balls, and a musty Amy Grant cassette tape?”)

“He helped me carry my beer,” she replied.

“Um, what?”

“I went out to lunch and had four margaritas and figured we needed some alcohol to drink before sushi so I got 5 bottles of wine and a 24 pack of Miller Light but then after I bought it all I realized I couldn’t carry it home.  I found Michael outside the liquor store just hanging out doing nothing and so he helped me carry it all here!  Wasn’t that nice of him? I told him I’d give him a beer if he helped,” she slurred as she tripped over her purse and fell to the ground.

“Oh. So we ARE celebrating your birthday?”

And that is the story of why Michael Matters. I kicked him out shortly after and told him if he ever tried to murder us we have knives from the Philippines and our boyfriends work for the Central Intelligence Agency, in the ‘Can End You with One Phone Call’ infantry division specialization. He just wanted another beer. Happy birthday, BGR.