Helpful?

So my friend L of the great taste in men grandma sent me an email early this afternoon -- she was bending over picking plum tomatoes in her garden when her back went out. She said it was a frightening experience -- she couldn't stand up for awhile, and was afraid she'd be out in her backyard alone all night. But she managed to get up the stairs and call her doctor.

I did a bit of research on the back going out thing, as L is fit and eats well and takes good care of herself and one would think your back goes out only if you are and do none of these things. Not so. The back is apparently a delicate and sensitive instrument, and anything could set it off. Something more for us all to worry about -- or not.

So L called and asked if I would come over and pick the tomatoes from her garden and the peaches from her peach tree and hang out with her a bit. I left a particularly enthralling Oprah (all about the Kennedys! I seem to have inherited the Kennedy watcher gene, albeit a milder version, from McMumsy.) and headed over with a couple of books she had mentioned she wanted to read, some fresh pesto I had made earlier that day, and a box of spaghetti with lines. I picked the fruits and veggies, made her up some dinner, and hung out with her until she passed out from the muscle relaxants.

Now I would read the paragraph above and think "What a good friend McPolack is." But I feel guilty, and let me tell you why. I could have brought more pesto over but I was planning on making a pesto dish myself. I also could have brought over chicken and broccoli and done up a better dinner but again, had been planning on this dinner myself. Doesn't the really helpful friend not hold anything back? Granted, she didn't ask me to come cook her dinner, and granted, she called me at the last minute to come see her and I didn't have much time for throwing stuff together, but I was still thinking of me even as I was thinking of her.

So this bugs me a bit and I thought I'd throw it out there for all of you to chew on.