Why can’t we be friends? Let me tell ya!
Everyone who knows me knows that PK is a lover, not a fighter.
In fact, I like to think of myself as a pretty OK Homo sapien; I hope most of the other ones in my little spot on the globe concur.
I try to be easy-going, tolerant, compassionate, kind of heart, and grateful and giving. Natch, I fail, but that doesn’t mean I ever stop trying. After all, like the Human League sang in ’86, “I’m only human.”
And the thing of it is, I really, really like most everyone I encounter.
In fact, I strive to be friends — or at least friendly — with as many folks as possible.
For instance, if you worship God, however you refer to Him (Yahweh, Father, Abba, the Great Spirit, the Creator, Jehovah, Elyon or any of his other monikers), or if maybe you are struggling with doubt about him, but you love instead of hate and live by the Golden Rule, we good, yo.
He knows your heart — and I’ll pray you find him in it, because he’s there.
If you, however, in any way, praise the opposite of him, we are not friends.
I’m talking to you, Christian Bale, Anthony Kiedis (Red Hot Chili Peppers) and any other dunderhead who publicly endorses the thing that runs the netherworld.
Acceptance speeches praising evil? Not cool. Words matter, regardless of “joking” intent and especially when you’re shouting them to millions of earthlings everywhere. Those two twits and me? Yeah, we ain’t pals, capisce?
Ohhhh, and if you are cruel just for the sake of it, lose my number right now, a’ight?
Anyway, there are exceptions to every rule even for an old pushover like PK, though I don’t have too many when it comes to liking people. I already told you the first two deal-breakers, and here, in no particular order, are a few more:
l If you text faster than the speed of light.
Listen, I’m trying to answer you but I’m not 22. BT dubs, neither are most of the other people texting a fossil like me, so slow down already! What do you have, like 40 fingers or something? Sheesh!
l If you use the dishes, take the time to set them in the sink and fill them with water, and then fail to place them in the dishwasher. No. Just no.
l If you hate dogs.
Look, I am allergic to and afraid of cats. I know it sounds ridiculous but I am. And even still, I like them. They’re beautiful, smart and heck, ya gotta hand it to a creature that doesn’t give a ball of yarn what the humans — or other cats … or dogs … or pretty much anyone else — thinks of them.
But a dog? I mean, I am just that girl that will go to MUSH over a puppy licking my nose. Every single time. And if you can’t love a cuddly, warm, fuzzy, adorable little puppy? You out.
l If you refuse to replace the TP roll.
I mean it. I don’t care how ya hang it, front or back-facing or half-jacked up on the little springy-thingy, just make the effort. Or I’m liable to leave you square-less in a pinch, you dig?
l If you hurt my son. I. Will. Cut. You. I mean it. At the very least, out of my life.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who loves most peeps and wants to be friends with ’em. But she’s serious about God and her kid. And the TP. Other than that, send friend requests viawww.patriciakimerer.com, ‘kay?