Way back in the glitzy, kitschy 1970s, I had a friend named, let’s say, Cliff.
We were close, hung out a lot, and had quite a bit of fun together.
But then we had a falling out and stopped speaking to each other.
It was so long ago, I don’t even remember why, quite frankly.
I just remember suddenly thinking him the devil with a fiery pitchfork.
And ever since then, Cliff and I wince whenever we see each other.
He looks at me like, “You’re still alive?” And I glance back, thinking, “You’re still alive?”
And our necks impulsively swerve our gazes away from each other because, after all, we’re feuding, remember?
For almost 30 years.
Clearly, I have Italian Alzheimer’s, which means you forget everything except a grudge (though in this case, I don’t remember the cause of the grudge, just the fact that I have one).
Should I finally let it go along with my ill-fitting leisure suit?
Shouldn’t there be a time limit on this sort of thing?
Anyone want to call Olivia de Havilland and tell her to make up with her sister before it’s too late?
I’d do it, except I’m feuding with Olivia, too.