One of my friends did a post about me on her blog* (which I did not ask for, just so you know), and has been pestering me to return the favour. She never said it had to be flattering, and I’m better with insults than I am at compliments, so here it is – with some help from some other friends of mine.

One of Louise’s defining qualities is that she doesn’t understand jokes, most of the time. Louise… takes things, for lack of a better word, very literally. This occasionally causes frustration amongst other friends of mine, as the people I tend to socialise with are extremely sarcastic. Louise takes whatever we say seriously (think of her as a lesser, female version of Christopher in the Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time**), and responds as if we were idiots. This leads to facepalming, long, drawn-out explanations, and finally, some rage directed her way. Most of the time, she still does not understand even after we have explained whatever it was we were discussing. She also makes out like it’s your fault that what you said didn’t make sense to her, not that she doesn’t understand.

She’s also ‘the slutty one’ amongst us. As another friend remarked, “she goes for anything with two legs. Or rather, at least two legs.” I once had to pull her out of a sex shop after she had decided to go in there with a guy we’d only met hours before, and she tends to hit on men immediately after we meet them, regardless of whether she likes them or not. Awkward.

My relationship with Louise is different to that of other friends, in that I have a habit of forgetting that she exists. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I’m just not very good with names. Sure, I can list the names and email addresses of the people I talked to online 10 years ago, and can probably tell you what your friend’s friend’s pet dog is called, but I just have a problem with remembering people I’m likely to meet in real life. So, when I’m given the task of inviting everyone out, I tend to leave her name out of things. It’s only when everyone turns up for whatever it is we’re doing that day and someone goes, “Where’s Louise?” that I stop and think, “Shit” and ring her, tell her to turn up and quickly apologise.

…Let’s get onto the nice things now!
Er, she’s a great cook, “has a noice indie thrifty style”, and “is caring. In a weird way.” Oh, and she apparently has a nice bedroom. She’s also one of the more sane people I know, and that’s saying something.
Louise, we love you really. Sort of. As another friend remarks, “she’s ditzy, but intelligent. Underneath it all. You have to dig a while though.”

Please don’t try to kill us.

*All my friends seem to be blogging lately. Grr. Considering I don’t use RSS, they’re a bitch to follow (but it’s in my best interests to follow what they say). Meh.
**”Lesser version” because she definitely does not have autism. Although that would explain a lot.