I am, of late, greatly troubled by Dandruff; Dandruff of the most severe and noticeable kind. Should you find yourself sitting behind me at a church service, all too often these days, a funeral, please don't feign ignorance of me for the snowflakes I shower around. Notice me still and if "being of good courage" matters to you at all, please, please, greet me yet as friend.
"FRIEND", did you hear that, "friend"? An abused and sadly often, misused term these days. Facebook, (yes you'll find me there) tells me that I have no less than 120 friends. I've only just now checked through their names and found many that were new to me. Yet I'm glad they're there; people whose domestic details are new to me yet by their very presence can introduce me to other cultures, other pass times, other friendships.
But No! You're right of course, I do not regard being able to chat with someone on subjects in which I have little interest or people who may have a ready answer for the griefs of the day, such as Dandruff! as a fit test for entry under the heading of "Friend". I am more inclined, as so often when I emerge from barren times, to turn to William Shakespeare.
In Hamlet, finding his son Laertes delaying his passage abroad, Polonius, his father, delays him yet further with these words of advice on "Friendship".
"Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; "
Forget Facebook; in the world of W.S. do you and I count as friends or is it enough to be able to help with Dandruff?
