Best friends help disguise your beer

There's no company as welcome as a best friend. It isn't that they don't deserve your best. It's just that you know they'll love you no matter whether you have it to give or not.

And so it goes that my best friend Lynn arrived at my home this week from Texas to cat hair on the chaise lounge and a first-night meal of an Old El Paso taco kit.

Here at Casa del Hall, we get a lot of company, mostly because we're the only people our Missouri friends and relatives know who live near the Gulf of Mexico and have an extra bedroom. Last week it was my in-laws, down to fit in a quick visit before dirt-track racing season, which holds roughly the same place in their lives as Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas combined. They had to come before racing season, because they sure as heck weren't missing a week of stock-car racing to frolic in some stupid waves.

So with about 24 hours between their departure and Lynn's arrival, plus a long day at work to fit in, only so much housework and food preparation was going to happen. The house wasn't dusted, the guest room sheets were in the dirty laundry, both the sink and the dishwasher were full.

As an added bonus, the weather forecast for her visit was bad. In Missouri, I never apologized for the weather. Never said, "Sorry, it's usually nicer." Never said, "I hate it that it's going to rain all week. That's so unfair!" Snow, rain, heat, gloom of night, etc., etc., I accepted it and moved on.

Since becoming a Floridian, I constantly apologize to visitors and other tourists for the weather. People come up to me in downtown Tampa asking for directions, and I'll apologize for the cool temperatures.

I was practically rending my garments with my best friend coming to town and nothing but rain in the forecast for her entire visit.

And then, as a final blow to my sanity, after a week of accident-free days, the dog peed in the guest room only hours before Lynn's scheduled arrival.

Finally, embarrassing house and all, she was here. I immediately apologized for the weather, the house and the food.

"Heidi, I don't care about any of that," she said.

"All I want is to sit on the beach with a beer in my hand. And if it rains, we'll make that your living room."

The next day, we got up to dark skies and rain in the forecast. Even still, with much of the nation out on spring break, I braced myself for impossible traffic.

Undeterred, we put on our bathing suits and stopped by a convenience store for gas and beer. Lynn volunteered to go in. I told her to grab a couple of can coolers -- I couldn't remember whether beer was legal on the beach (ends up it depends on the beach) and thought a little disguise wouldn't hurt.

She came out with two coolers. One read, "I'm on a 30 day diet. So far I've lost 10 days." The other read, "Whatever happened, I didn't do it."

"It's all they had left," she said.

I laughed. And laughed. And finally realized that she really didn't care about the weather, the house, the tacos, and can coolers or anything else.

And when we were sitting on the beach, all the disasters and traffic behind us, and the sun came out, it was that much sweeter.

Heidi Hall is a former Southeast Missourian managing editor who now lives in St. Petersburg, Fla.