I have never realized, or paid close enough attention to the fact that I have so many wonderful people in my life. My family, they are kind, selfless, giving, and they’d drop everything to be by my side when I need them.
But then again…don’t they have to? They are stuck with me, and don’t get me wrong–I thank my lucky stars they are. I truly feel bad for those suckers that share my DNA, and even worse for the people who had to decide that being with the person they love, was worth having to deal with me.
But there is one person who didn’t have to stick around. One person who chose to be in my life. One person who deals with me everyday because she wants to.
That’s why she’s my best friend.
Throughout the first three years of my high school career, I most certainly didn’t fit in. Don’t get me wrong, I did everything I could to make up for that, and at times it wore me down. It also became so embarrassingly obvious that of course it wouldn’t produce the desired result. I spent so much time apologizing for being so–so wonderfully weird, and it was impossibly tiresome. Finally, I decided that I wasn’t going to do it.
I decided that I was always going to rather hang out with my mom than go out and party. I decided that putting on makeup and a bra was just too tiring and time consuming, and that I could be up to my nose in a bubble bath and the newest issue of Cosmo. I was always going to be a dork.
But, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that there was one person who stuck around, in spite of all that, and I’ll forever be grateful for her.
I’d like to believe that I’ve had a profound effect on peoples’ lives, but something tells me that aside from the occasional “nice shirt” compliment, I haven’t really done all that much to deserve admiration. I am sure however, that I’ve had an effect on her.
I could sit here and lie about what it’s like to be friends with me. That she’s my “ride or die” and my “partner in crime.” I mean sure, we’ve made our occasional late night McDonalds trips, and they were pretty dangerous, but for the most part, our relationship is not like that. She’s more my “eat a whole bag of chips while I shave my legs in the tub” kind of friend.
We don’t go out and get into trouble. We don’t go to parties until three am and get so drunk that we make out and can’t remember where we are. I’m sure she has those friends, the ones that she trusts so much that she’s willing to do that with, the fun friends–and I thank them too, because I can’t fill those shoes, no matter what. Although I’ll never enjoy that, I know that she deserves to be young, and to have excitement, and if I can’t provide that, I’m certainly thankful for those that can and are.
Being friends with me is not exciting. When she’s around me, she’s not “living in the moment” or YOLO-ing, even though that’s what she should be doing at 21. However, despite the fact that she knows this, she has consistently been my best friend, no matter how boring I get. She’s never walked away, nor has she ever told me she would. We’ve never bet against each other and we will always be the other’s support system.
She knows me. She knows that I bake cupcakes for fun, and that I am one of the biggest over thinkers to ever set foot on the planet. She knows that no matter how hard I try, more often than not I will not finish my lone beer that I’ve been working on for 3 hours. She knows that when she calls me from school and she’s drunk and laughing hysterically with her friends, that I’m most likely cleaning out the fridge and sipping on Pinot Grigio because I’m 168 years old on the inside.
She’s not a “for now” friend. She’s the friend that I’ll be calling when I have my first child. She’ll be there when I have family dinners because lets face it, she’ll provide the fun. She’s the friend that even if things don’t go the way I planned, will be there to help me set all of that s**t on fire. She’s the friend that, when I got married at 19–looked at me and said “yeah you’re a nutcase, but go for it.” and never once has told me I was wrong.
The best part? She loves me. When I come home, she’s there…waiting for me. Waiting to have sleepovers and eat gross gas station food in bed, while trying and failing to take decent photos, only to decide snap chats are better since no one in their right minds would ever screenshot them.
I mean who cares what my dog is doing at 1am?
Aside from the fact that I am undeniably the most stubborn person alive, despite the fact that I was born middle aged and get a little older day by day, she’s been there. She’s been there, through my mistakes that we both know I’ve made, even if we don’t have to talk about it. She’s been there through some of the hardest times in my life, and she’s been there through the best.
I’m not sure if saying thank you until I’m grey and withering would even do her justice.
So here’s to you best friend. Thanks for dealing with me!