Apologies to anyone who thought this was in any way related to the similarly-name post Fighting My Best Friend’s Uncle. It’s not, but struggle is a constant theme in my life. #misunderstood
My adversary this time is a woman I’ve never met – the mysterious Mary* who’s recently started dating my good friend Beej. This threatens to disrupt our steady-as-a-rock bromance (we recently coined the term ‘broulmates’) while she sees me as competition for Beej’s affection. It’s all speculative and light-hearted, of course; they’re coming to stay and we can’t wait to meet each other. And beat each other. A few taunts fly and, before I know it, my declaration that I’m ‘coming for her’ draws a battle-rap response, sent to me by Beej (loving the attention).
A challenge of competitive creativity, hey? It’s like she knows me already. I spend a good half hour crafting my response, a heady mix of put-down puns and superlative self-promotion. I mention how I’ll win Beej – we’ve already agreed to settle our dispute over him through a game of RoShamBo (rock-paper-scissors for those of you who don’t play ultimate) – and threaten to ‘knock her out for days’. After a few practice repetitions, I record my rap, one take. Word filters back from Beej that she’s impressed.
Come the weekend, and I greet Mary for the first time with a huge hug – we’re instant best friends. But the gauntlet we laid down is still the elephant in the room. That evening, as Beej films, we perform our respective taunts and I lay down the slickest, sickest rap of my life. Mary concedes defeat on that front but now it’s the highly anticipated best of nine RoShamBo showdown. I stare her down, formulating my first symbol. ‘No one ever goes paper first,’ I think. Given that this is so serious, she’ll put some thought into it, and go paper. I go scissors. Mary goes rock. Damn.
I equalise and we trade points to 3-2, then I stutter, caught off-guard by her speed, and paper cuts me to 4-2 down. “You need to win three in a row now,” Beej gleefully informs me. His preference is with her, perhaps because the rap battle was so one-sided, or perhaps because she has boobs. My scissors beats her paper and it’s 4-3. One match point saved. Now, I’ve worked out she’ll go paper again, so I’m going scissors. But wait! She’s smarter than that – she’ll have taken that step too, and gone rock. I should go paper, got it. “Ro, Sham, Bo, [panic] Sho!” At panic, I change my mind, running back a step to scissors…
Mary’s great. She rocks, you might say. She rocks.
*name changed to preserve Mary’s raputation. Thug life is unforgiving, she tells me.