Her Royal Pinkness

“Hello. This is Lance Morrison. I’m not sure if you remember me or not, but we met two years ago when you visited our friend Ray, in Yellowknife. Well, the thing is, I just moved to Toronto on Sunday, and thought we could be friends. What do you think? If you would like, you can call me back at 416-_ _ _-_ _ _ _. Hope to talk to you soon.”

That, essentially, was how I reconnected with Her Royal Pinkness. She had just moved in with her girlfriend (the aloof Puma) months earlier, and was happy as a clam to meet up with me. It just so happened that the next day she was headed to a book launch, and was without a date, and would I like to go? I jumped at the chance and have thanked my gay stars everyday since.

I walked into NOW Lounge to meet my new(ish) friend. Look at me: my fourth day in Canada’s largest city and already attending book launches… well, la ti da! I walked around looking Her Royal Pinkness and it hit me:

I’d not seen her in 2 years, and had only met her, I think, twice - maybe three times. I can’t remember at all what she looked like. She was short… pleasantly plump… shoulder length brown hair that she was “never colouring again”… amazing eyes… and wore an awful lot of pink. That’s all, and it’s been two years. She could have lost weight; she could have gained weight; she could have grown / cut / coloured / permed her hair; she could be anyone in this room!

I walked around the room asking every woman if they were her. Being new in the city, I assumed there might be a chance that people know her (she was an editor of a magazine, after all), so I asked if anyone knew her. Ahhh, the naivety of the new kid on the block.

So I did what any sensible person would do in this situation; I went for a cigarette and grabbed my cell phone. Emergency call to The Philanthropist who, after getting over the fact that I was actually attending a book launch, told me that he couldn’t sufficiently describe what she may look like anymore than I could.

But then...
A Vision...
Pink!

Trotting down Church Street was a short, pleasantly plump girl with shoulder length brown hair (that had, obviously, not been coloured), with glistening eyes in a pink monogrammed shirt, perfectly cut jeans and pink shoes. From there a friendship was born.

Without Her Royal Pinkness, I would not know half of my friends. She and Puma were the ones that first introduced me to The Boyfriend and Cousin Janet. I would never have known the joy that is Lower Etobicoke. Or Wisteria Lane, for that matter.

To HRP: I thank you so much for everything that I have in Toronto (West of Spadina, that is). The kindness that you’ve shown me is more than anyone could possibly deserve, yet you give it up so effortlessly. You are such a beautiful person, inside and out, and I wish for you all the joy and light that you bring into our little family. Look now, I’m all teary.

Much Love.