—“Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.” ~Virginia Woolf
- She’s nonjudgmental. Recently, I confided to my bff how I made total fool out of myself at First Avenue: drinking too many strawberry margaritas, dirty dancing, and flirting with these dudes from Rhode Island. I told her a married, Christian girl would never behave in such a irresponsible manner. She smiled and said. “Why didn’t you invite me, bitch?”
- We can talk about sex one minute and Jesus the next. Yes, BJ’s, 50 Shades of Gray, and Jesus can wrap and wind around our fascinating stories smoothly and effortlessly. Don’t judge.
- She tells me when my derriere looks big and gets to live. “Um, I think you need to go up a size, cause those jeans look like you’re wearing a fruit rollup.”
- We attend the same pity parties. When I’m feeling oh-so-sorry for myself: a loser, a failure, a horrible mother, a phony, an asshole, and a jerk, she invites herself to my pity party saying, “You’re not alone, my sister.” Misery digs company.
- Shopping is our Prozac. TJ Max to the rescue. The higher the heel, the sexier we feel. (That rhymes!) We may not be able to walk, honey, but we can sit at the club eating sushi and drink martinis looking like hot mamas.
- In my darkest hours, she grows powerful wings. Through black and fog and loss and unbearable, unimaginable shittiness, she flies to my rescue no matter where she is to hold my hand, pray, & wipe the snot from my face.
- Book talk. We read the same books, then discuss. Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. The Fault in Our Stars. Wild. Eat, Pray, Love. She’s Come Undone. The Book of Ruth. Stones From the River….In case you haven’t noticed, the characters are strong women who kick serious ASS.
- She’s comes from the root of the root. I call her my “root friend,” because we’ve know each other since the beginning of time, or at least, it feels that way. We love each other unconditionally even when we’re totally unlovable. We may not originate from the same womb, but we have the same blood.
- We are inappropriate. When she confessed she couldn’t get into her bathroom because the door was locked, rather than become empathic and sorry that she ultimately pissed her new $125.00 Lucky jeans, I laughed until I pissed in mine.
- We talk smack about our husbands. Sometimes you just need to get it out, allow the words to flow and crash. “I fucking hate him today!” Sometimes you need the words to surge into a safe space with somebody who understands you.
- We identify with Orange is the New Black. Yep, women in prison for despicable acts, women loving women, women breaking the rules. Rebels. Addicts. Unlikely friendships. Crazy Eyes. It’s all so delectable and delicious.
- She knows what I’m thinking. “What did you say? She asks. “Nothing.” I answer. “Well, I heard you thinking something.” She says.
- She’s smart as hell. On our weekend walks, we discuss politics, education, women’s issues, great books, poetry, death, body image, God, and Isis. On the other spectrum, we talk about Caitlyn Jenner, The Kardashians, Mr. Gray, OITNB, and Adam Levine. You could say we’re pretty eclectic.
- She gets me, she really gets me. Her words are like little warm, electrifying hugs. She laughs fiercely at my stupid jokes. In a universe where, at times, nobody stands by your side or truly Sees You, she is there, always there,
……..giving me a standing ovation
…..Darling, Reader, Do you have any Bffs? If so, how many? Tell me something about them. xxxXX