I called Amanda a few days ago, crying. The holidays and midwinter depression were already getting the best of me, on top of life sucking for a myriad of other reasons for which I shall not bore you. (Well, maybe I will but not right this second.)
She was in the middle of making soup for dinner. It required the use of a blender. She somehow juggled my breakdown and the preparation of her dinner, as if it was just another task to perform. We even decided that I could cry extra hard when she was blending, since the sound would drown me out anyway. I timed my bigger outbursts during the puree cycle.
In the middle of her second blending, I told her to stop. She did. Through my sobs, I managed to tell her that I thought she was over-blending her soup and it would turn out like baby mush. She appreciated the culinary concern amid my meltdown and we both started laughing.
Friends do things like this.