"My... Emmy"
When I talk to people about ELM, what funny story she has told me or advice she has given me, I refer to her as "my... Emmy." I refer to her as "my... Emmy," with a pause after the possessive adjective because I question which noun should follow. The ellipses represent my search for the perfect word to describe her. What is she to me? She is the doctor for whom I work, the mother of children I babysit, the older sister I never had, and above all, the friend I'm so grateful to claim as my own. Though labeling our relationship is complicated, the relationship itself is simple: we love each other.
My...Emmy spoils me with babysitting jobs and great birthday/Christmas gifts. She understands my financial restraints and is generous beyond belief, keeping me afloat financially and emotionally. My...Emmy listens to me whine about boys over happy hour cocktails, and on the night of my 27th birthday after I had celebrated too much and was exercising my right to "cry if I want to" she texted me: "the odd years have always been my best."
We share a love for writing/storytelling, binge-watching Friday Night Lights, and emojis. We enthusiastically share results of Buzz Feed quizzes (Which type of potato are you? Which type of bird would you be? What type of sandwich are you?) from behind our respective computers at work. I explain various cultural references (selfies, twerking, etc) to her, and she looks at my skinned knee and reassures me that it's not infected, just healing normally. My... Emmy invites me into her home to hang with her hilarious, smart, and sweet kids, feed her giant hypoallergenic cats, and rummage through her kitchen cupboards for after-work snacks.
On Thanksgiving, my...Emmy invited me to spend the holiday with her husband, kids, and parents in Long Island in the home where she grew up. Her girls showed me her old doll house, which they now play with, and at the end of the night, my...Emmy drove me to the train station and sent me home with a hug, kiss, and Tupperware of leftovers.
Together we complain about spanx, nasty patients, weight gain, the hot weather, and the cold weather. We get 1/2 priced margaritas and guacamole and talk about our childhoods, how we came to be the way we are, and how life is so much more grey than black and white. Between patient calls and kids' stories, we laugh, a lot.
She fills so many roles in my life that there isn't one word to describe what she means to me.
She's just my... Emmy.
My...Emmy spoils me with babysitting jobs and great birthday/Christmas gifts. She understands my financial restraints and is generous beyond belief, keeping me afloat financially and emotionally. My...Emmy listens to me whine about boys over happy hour cocktails, and on the night of my 27th birthday after I had celebrated too much and was exercising my right to "cry if I want to" she texted me: "the odd years have always been my best."
We share a love for writing/storytelling, binge-watching Friday Night Lights, and emojis. We enthusiastically share results of Buzz Feed quizzes (Which type of potato are you? Which type of bird would you be? What type of sandwich are you?) from behind our respective computers at work. I explain various cultural references (selfies, twerking, etc) to her, and she looks at my skinned knee and reassures me that it's not infected, just healing normally. My... Emmy invites me into her home to hang with her hilarious, smart, and sweet kids, feed her giant hypoallergenic cats, and rummage through her kitchen cupboards for after-work snacks.
On Thanksgiving, my...Emmy invited me to spend the holiday with her husband, kids, and parents in Long Island in the home where she grew up. Her girls showed me her old doll house, which they now play with, and at the end of the night, my...Emmy drove me to the train station and sent me home with a hug, kiss, and Tupperware of leftovers.
Together we complain about spanx, nasty patients, weight gain, the hot weather, and the cold weather. We get 1/2 priced margaritas and guacamole and talk about our childhoods, how we came to be the way we are, and how life is so much more grey than black and white. Between patient calls and kids' stories, we laugh, a lot.
She fills so many roles in my life that there isn't one word to describe what she means to me.
She's just my... Emmy.
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