I overheard a conversation yesterday in the lobby of our apartment building.
“NO ONE makes a smoothie like I do!” said Apartment 303. “The Lord knows, no one even comes close.”
“You know you do!” said Apartment 301. “They’re not garbage smoothies.” Then the two old women walked past me, stepped into the elevator, and rode straight to Smoothie Valhalla.
Since then, I’ve been thinking about those four sentences all day. I’ve pondered tone, word choice, word emphasis, and verbal punctuation. I’m an enthusiastic consumer of smoothies, but had never thought of them as terribly difficult to make. Making a smoothie, according to common sense and Pinterest, is simple:
You go to the store and purchase items grown or made by someone else. You take those items home, cut them up, and throw them in a blender. Maybe you get fancy and add chia seeds or vodka. Then you pour the results into a glass and consume through a hole in your face.
These are the basic tenets of smoothie creation.
To declare that no one makes anything like you do is to truly live life on the edge. Has my neighbor met every person in the world to confirm that her smoothie-making ways are significantly different? The way she declared it, that first sentence – her tone, the finality – was one of total confidence. NO ONE makes a smoothie like she does.
This led me to a few theories:
-Like Santa, 303 has met every person in the world, maybe at an intergalactic smoothie competition that she has won for the past 2,000 years.
-303 grows every single item that goes into her precious smoothies, even the potatoes to make her own vodka.
-303 is a real life wizard who creates smoothies out of thin air, like Albus Dumbledore.
Taken at face value, it was a straightforward conversation, but when analyzed further, it got weird.
-How does the Lord know 303 makes the best smoothies? Has she made a smoothie for the actual Lord? Do gods even need to eat, and if they do, would they really choose a healthy breakfast alternative favored by middle-aged white ladies? If I was a god, I would probably try all the endangered species on Earth; that, or have a 24-hour brisket-pizza sundae buffet.
-When 301 said “You know you do!”, was she enthusiastically agreeing, or just implying that 303 has a huge smoothie-flavored ego? Like ‘You know you make good smoothies, but leave me the hell out of it.’
-“They’re not garbage smoothies” is pretty high on the list of backwards compliments I never need to hear. How do I look, honey? “Well, you don’t look like a garbage can filled with rancid ham.” SWOON.
How to work wizard smoothies into casual conversation has been my latest challenge. When I see 303 again, I need to be prepared; if she holds the key to Smoothie Valhalla, I want in. “Oh, hello, neighbor! I love that pink nail polish; those aren’t garbage nails. The color reminds me of the greatest smoothie ever made in the entire universe, which I haven’t tasted yet but maybe someday soon, hint.”
I hope she has the recipe memorized.