My Celeb BFFs: The Rock

            Not that I’m not perfectly blessed with my real BFFs—they’re the best BFFs anyone in the world could ask for. That being said, a girl needs something to aspire to in life, right? And it’s not like I want to replace my real BFFs with celebrities; I just want to add them to our group and go on adventures with them. Because I sense that all celebrities attract adventures. (But I could be wrong because I don’t actually know them.)

            The Rock’s friendship would come pretty easily, I feel. We could probably run into each other anywhere—like the grocery store because I just always picture him shopping for food—and I would stand there and debate for like twenty minutes if I should go over and talk to him while he examines the stems of broccoli crowns to find one that’s not all dry at the bottom. Once he had picked out 12 nice broccoli crowns, he’d turn around, see me, and smile expectantly because I’m standing in front of the bags and he doesn’t have all day to just stand there and palm a dozen broccoli crowns. But I wouldn’t know this—or maybe I would—but it wouldn’t make a difference because I’d be so thrilled that he was smiling at me in a way that assumingly meant let’s be friends that I would stand there, unblinking, with a giant open-mouthed grin.

            We’d probably speak at the same time.

            Him: Excuse me.

            Me: [stupidly] You’re The Rock.

            That’s when he’d give a little sigh because he thought he could have a normal grocery shopping experience today at Safeway without someone telling him who he is like he doesn’t already know and he’d nod tiredly and say, “Yes, I am.”

            And during that time, I’d process what he requested of me and pull six bags out for him, because he can’t do it while his hands are full of broccoli and I’d offer to help him bag them. He’d appreciate it because everyone expects The Rock to be so self-sufficient, but no human can bag broccoli while they’ve got a dozen crowns in their hands, and then he’d warily start a conversation with me because he still remembers how star-struck I was when he initially spotted me, blocking the way to the produce bags.

            It would probably be about eating healthy, and he’d have to constantly remind me that I can’t eat like him because I’m a 21-year-old female who didn’t professionally wrestle people for a living (that he knows of), which is disappointing because I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the world who loves food as much as The Rock—this is also why we’re going to be BFFs. If you eat with someone every time you hang out, it’s impossible not to bond with him.

            We’d walk around Safeway together because our lists would magically coincide. (“Protein powder? I need that too—how uncanny!”) Before we knew it, we’d be going to the checkout together as he is telling me about how he makes the best pancakes and I respond by telling him that I can probably eat 50 pancakes, which is true, if they’re 1/10 the size of normal pancakes. But The Rock would think I was challenging him, even though I really only want to try his pancakes, so he would bet that he could eat more pancakes than I could and I would probably tell him that he undoubtedly could. At this point, we’d probably politely tell each other how nice it was to meet one another and then we’d head our separate ways—me, trying to figure out what to do with a kilo of protein powder.

            But The Rock can’t leave a challenge, even if he can already predict the result of entering an eating contest against someone one fourth his size. So he officially challenges me to a pancake-eating contest, to which my initial reaction would be “I can’t handle the chagrin of losing.” Then a more reasonable voice would sink in, telling me that I have the opportunity to eat pancakes with The Rock and that he’d probably like me better if I lost anyway. So I’d agree and we’d set off for his fancy house where he has a fancy kitchen to make delicious pancakes with.

            Once we got there, we would have a hilarious kitchen montage (probably in chefs hats and aprons) where we would make pancakes together, although The Rock probably secretly noted which pancakes were mine and gave them to me to eat because they obviously could never be as good as his, and after we made about 75 pancakes, we’d sit down to eat.

            Just as I’m finishing my 5^th pancake, The Rock would be finishing his 70^th, and I would look down at the plate and say what a shame it was that we ran out of pancakes because now we don’t know who won. Then The Rock would look at me like Who do you think you’re kidding, and I would shoot him a defensive look back that said Maybe I could have had six pancakes; you don’t know me. But then he’d start to get up, telling me he would be glad to make more pancakes and then at the risk of exploding, I would have to admit defeat in a small, pity-inducing voice.

            The pity would last for a full 30 seconds before The Rock would get up, holding the serving platter that once held 75 pancakes above his head and start to circle the kitchen shouting things like “YEAH” and “TAKE THAT” and “I WON. I AM THE WINNER. I AM THE CHAMPION.” Which would cause me to feel a little uncomfortable and start singing “We are the Champions” in a nervous, faulty soprano. He would turn to me (eyes slightly bulging), and I would quickly amend the lyrics to “you” instead of “we,” and, satisfied, The Rock would continue his victory parade around the kitchen.

            Thinking I should probably make a move to leave, I would hesitantly get up and stand until The Rock circles the Italian-tiled island in the middle of his kitchen and faces me again. Then I would point toward the closest door as in I think I’m gonna go and start inching toward it. As I open it, a pit bull would rush in and tackle me, and The Rock would stop his lap and introduce her as “Muffy.” And Muffy would lick my face. And The Rock would say “Look, she likes you,” and then I’d get up and tell him that I have to go. Then he’d say, “Let’s do this again sometime,” which probably means, “Let me beat you at pancake-eating again sometime,” and I’d be like, “Okay,” because for the first time in my life I’d be at the table with someone who could eat more than me, and that’s confidence-building for a girl my age. So we’d make plans for next Saturday, and then I’d turn to leave, scratching Muffy on the ears before walking out the door.

            I’d say, “See you later, The Rock.”

             And when he says, “Call me Dwayne,” our status as BFFs is solidified.
~ToriannaLamba