Last night was my farewell show in Chicago, followed by drinks with friends to say goodbye.

I've had the pleasure of being on a few great teams while in the city, but my favorite and longest lasting team has been Cowlick. We are now more than an improv group, we're pretty much family. And just like family, we have some dysfuctions (or functions?) one of them being unrelenting sarcasm and prodding to show our love.

In February Cowlick went to the Dirty South Improv Festival, one of our many vacations together. After the plane landed we got our rental car, dropped our stuff off at the hotel and went to get something to eat. Of course we could not decided on anything, ended up driving around for a while, getting cranky and finally chossing some random bar. As we are walking in, BJ (not pictured, that is Martin another Cowlicker) opens the door for me, looks at me sternly in the face, and in the meanest was possible simply says:

Hey Sarah. Nice Sweater.

I'm so taken aback at how rude it was that I proceed to tell everyone at the table what he said and how mean it was. BJ pretends that he actaully meant it, and re-enacted it as though it was a compliment. I'm then told that I'm too sensitive.

BJ did not admit to the fact that he was a complete jerk for a month. A MONTH. But he finally did, and "Nice Sweater" became a way to tell anyone, namely me, to shut up if they were being annoying, or at me cause I'm easy to get a rise out of.

I'm aware that these kind of stories are not really interesting to anyone but the participants. These are also the kind of long running jokes that feel like the kind of shared silliness only a family can enjoy. Always out of comraderie, and never out of exclusivity.

Cowlick is the scarecrow, who I will miss most of all.