Anne always described herself as Scottish. If you knew her, you would see it. People did not always see Anne for who she really was, finding her sarcastic and rude, many did not want to take the time, and get to know her. I took the time, and Anne soon became one of my closest friends.
She was always there for me, and I her. If the stresses of life were bringing me down, Anne would always crack some joke, normally a dirty one, making everything all right. That is how Anne always was; she was the comedian, with not one of her jokes failing to bring laughs. Not only was it the things she said, but it was also the things she did.
It was a cold October night and Anne and I had snuck out. Quickly walking to H-area, we found our destination and scoped it out. After five minutes of quiet anticipation, Anne and I opened our bags and pulled out our weapons of choice, toilet paper.
Soon after unleashing our wrath upon the darkened house, a car drove by and Anne and I had to each hide in our respective locations. I ducked behind an Oleander bush, hoping that the driver did not spot our bodies against the dark night. However, during our time of panic, Anne, not thinking clearly, ran into a cactus. Her voice rang out in the darkened street of candlewood, "WHAT THE...!"
With tears of laughter flowing down my face I left my hiding spot. We quickly left the scene because the chances of not having been heard, for we were both being very loud, were slim. Slowly disappearing into the night, the all-forgiving hours of darkness, we each cursed the cactus that ruined our job.
Anne and I cursed many things...