From time to time one must rely on friends for support, advice, shoulder to cry on or some one to call bullshit on you ass.  The other day, when I was trying to get enough guts to quit a job that was sucking the life out of me I turned to “The Coven.”

“Give me strength.” I said.

“You don’t owe them anything!” They called back.

It was a Steel Magnolias moment.  Except none of us are southern white women.  And we don’t hang out in a beauty shop.  In fact maybe it’s not like Steel Magnolias at all, but you kinda get the point.  I gave my notice of resignation that same morning.

The Coven is a group of women who are no holds barred when it comes to telling you like it is.  They beat the truth into you, even when you don’t want to hear it.  My coven is made up of three women – AB (that’s me), BB (that’s Cathy) and CB (that’s Teresa).

AB stands for ‘asian bitch’ not ‘alcoholic beverage’ or half the name of a Swedish pop group.  I like to think I bring a lot to the Coven, but really I’m more like the yippy Jack Russell terrier to their pitbull (with lipstick!) cool.  I basically play tag along with BB and CB in order to get some street cred.  If you ask them, my initials should really be “SS” for Suzy Sunshine (their REAL nickname for me) because I am generally optimistic and hopeful despite that fact that it usually takes me two or three or six go arounds to get things right.  I think they keep me around for shits and giggles.  Or to say stuff like, “I remember when I was that age…”

BB stands for ‘black bitch’ because someone she once fired called her that.  Knowing her, she probably said something like, “I may be a black bitch, but I’m a black bitch who still has a job” in return.  I openly love that about her. BB doesn’t wear hats to church on Sundays, drinks beer out of a bottle and generally only coordinates her three daughters’ outfits during the holidays.  Since I am not a black woman from Shreveport, Louisiana, I don’t fully understand the weight of how scandalous these indiscretions are.  But I’ve met her mother, who basically introduced herself not as Allie, but as “Ms. BB” and I almost peed my pants right on the spot.

CC stands for “caucasian bitch” but really, that’s a misnomer.  AB, BB and CB just sounds a little fancier together.  CC is actually Italian – Sicilian specifically, and she could kick your ass.  No really, she could kick your ass and the kids you haven’t had yet would come out of the womb with bruises.  CC has a green motorcycle which she either calls Lola or Flo, wears her hair short and is the perfect juxtaposition of sweetness and toughness.  My daughter thinks she is cool because she rides (or is it rolls?) around in a black convertible SAAB and has perfumed soaps in her bathroom.  BB’s kids thinks she cool because she’s stylish and has cool hair.  BB and I think she’s cool because she doesn’t have kids who live at home.

So The Coven acts as a bullshit-o-meter, where majority opinion rules. For instance, when BB got a high-falutin’ corporate job she started dropping hints that she was going to get a vanity car.  The coven reacted somewhere along the lines of, “Hold the phone, you’ve got three kids and mortgage.  Do you really want cheerios all over that fancy car?” Or when my general practitioner tried to diagnose me with adult ADD, The Coven sat me down and said flat out, “If you have ADD, then we’re retarded.”  These two women are indispensable to me and when I feel so lost that I can’t make a decision, I have them help me.  This happens a lot.  They never laugh at me when I go against their advice and are always waiting in the wings to catch me.

And oh yes, I would be remiss not to mention QB.

QB a.k.a “Queen Bee” is our dear friend Coop.  Technically QB cannot be part of the coven because he does not have a vajay-jay.  QB is like the Fourth of July, Rosh Hashanah and Boxing Day all rolled into one big hot mess tied up in a pink silk bow.  QB has a dizzying intellect which enables him to catalog in his brain:  all the movies he’s ever watched, all the books and magazines that he’s read in his lifetime and all the bad reality television that ever existed (D-Listed?!?). He is more hip than a Harajuku girl, but still maintains the sensibilities of Bea Arthur.  And while BB and CB may dance around the topic, QB will tell us flat out things like, “You need to get laid” or “The fabric on your jacket looks like the upolstery on my Aunt’s couch.”

Tags: Friendship, The Coven