Addicted to the drama - Part I

I'm in the middle of a Friday-morning meeting, and I can see my cellphone vibrating madly, non-stop. It's a person who we shall refer to here only as Drama Queen Extraordinaire, or just DQ. The reason I cannot name her is because identifying her here would unleash a dramatic episode of such epic proportions, the likes of which have never been seen since Moses parted the Red Sea, and also because I am still trying trying to atone for the sin of having been born first, therefore usurping all our mother's love and affection. Ooops. Nuff said.

So I answer the phone.

DQ: Ohmigod! You will not believe this! The worst thing has happened!

ME: What do you mean? Like Chernobyl?

DQ: Huh?

References to Chernobyl, or man's landing on the moon, or even independence, are inconsequential and unnecessary to her since-

a) they happened to someone else, somewhere else, and do not impact her life directly in any way.
b) they have nothing to do with clothes, shoes, men, bags, food, shopping or flirting.

ME: Nothing. So why don't you tell me what happened?

DQ: I told this friend of mine to buy me powder-blue shoes and she has gone and bought me baby-blue ones! Can you believe it?

ME: No, of course not! I believe everything that the people on the Home Shopping Network say about everything they sell, and I also believe the astrologer who told me that I was a murderer in a past life. But this, no way! Unbelievable!

DQ: (sighing) Can we never have just one normal conversation?

ME: Ok, fine. Why is this important anyway?

DQ: Because! Please tell me that you haven't forgotten that it's Annie's wedding in a month's time and the theme is powder-blue? Please! Come on! You're part of the wedding entourage!

ME: Er...yeah, kind of.

DQ: Are you serious? Really? Wow! Annie's going to have a shit fit about this.

This was not good. Annie is a mutual friend, and is much closer to She Who Must Not Be Named than she is to me, and dealing with the drama generated by both these women together was like witnessing, all at the same time, Moses parting the Red Sea + swarm of locusts + Jesus' ascension into heaven + Lady Gaga in her most OTT outfit splattered with fake blood and performing on stage, hanging upside down suspended by cables, while all coked-up. I think you get the picture.

DQ: Ohmigod! What am I going to do? My clothes and shoes don't match!

ME: What is the big deal? The ushers are going to turn us away if our clothes are not perfectly colour-coordinated when they examine us from head to toe with their magnifying glasses?

DQ: You know, I thought you would understand.

ME: Of course I do. In fact, the only reason Mom ever gave birth to me was because she had the foresight to know that 30 years later, when your clothes and shoes didn't match and you needed someone to run to, there'd always be me.

Click.

ME: Hello? Hellooooo???!