Friendship

Since coming to Jesus, Libby and I have been getting on very well--have only once had to ask her to please not tidy my desk, and did not bristle even once when she asked me to proof the new photocopy policy Document five times over the course of one morning, but still feel that am not out of the woods with Libby yet. Yesterday morning, we talk about pregnancy. As yet, Libby looks totally unaltered, but she tells me of all of the impressive and alarming changes to come. The conversation is broken up briefly when Libby has to go puke. When she is gone, a Professor T. arrives, immediately lauching into speech. Speech given in very high handed tone and without eye contact being made. Gist of speech is that she does not care for the direction the school is going. Specifically, how the quality of student has gone down. And by the way, where are her copies. She left them here yesterday with the girl. Ask her coldly if she means Libby, who, as it happens, is a woman. Professor T says she supposes that's who she's talking about. Libby returns looking pale and a little shaky. Professor T pounces upon her. Have to run off to meeting, but Libby indicates the door with a head nod, which hope means that she will be fine. Meeting painfully long--draw stellar Diet Coke can, passable telehpone, and pornographic looking earring hanging from the associate dean's ear. After work, go to yoga. Emerge from yoga class into pink glow--likely effect of setting sun shining through toxic particles--but beautiful nevertheless. Purchased and am drinking ice cold water, refreshing to the extreme. Turn onto lower Fifth Avenue on way to meet Dave in SoHo. Feel that am likely in best mood there ever was. Do not recognize Professor T until she is immediately in front of me. Smile and wave, bestowing good mood on her. She seems to recognize me at the same time--instead of smiling, asks, Who let you out of your cage? Feel confused--is she making a joke? If so, it is a very poor sort, but laugh politely. She then says, Do you live here? Seeming to imply that clearly I should be returned to deepest darkest Brooklyn at once. Wish to kill her. Can only mumble defensively, I just got out of yoga. Later, think up many witty and sarcastic remarks, i.e. As a matter of fact, do live here--we keep a house around the corner on 10th street, but in the summer we try to spend most of our time out at the beach place in Montauk. Or, alternatively, yes, I live in a very nice refrigerator box on the river. Today, at office, am still irate. Retell story, with embellishments, to the Contessa (who is in my office.) The Contessa is sympathetic. Says that it is crystal clear to her that Professor T ought to be taken out and shot. Libby catches the last bit of the story, asks who should be shot. Tell her. She sniffs, Shot--at the very least. We all laugh. The Contessa even snorts. Feel very warmly toward Libby but am very sad to note that once again a mutual hatred has gone further than anything else to forward a friendship.