i don’t have a lot of friends. well, let me back up – depending on your definition of a “lot,” like, if it’s 50, i don’t have a lot of friends. i have maybe a dozen. of which, maybe, three, i would consider friends friends; the rest are probably more like “comfortable acquaintances.”
all of my life – literally since early childhood – i’ve gotten along better with guys than girls. what friends i’ve had, they’ve generally been male vs. female. and there’s no real logical explanation for this. it just is. as a woman, i stand up for other women all the time. when one of my girlfriends is hurting (emotionally, financially, physically, whateverly) i’m there for them. i have a genuine love for my fellow female friends. but here’s the thing – women are bitches.
we are! okay, not all of us are. but for the most part, we are. we’re so distrustful of each other. one minute you have your girl’s back, the next you’re stabbing her in it. you think i’m kidding? there’s been books about this shit. movies. stories true and fictional.
my point (and i do have one) is that this conundrum, this paradoxical split in the fabric of humanity, has cost me quite a few friends over the years. and when you consider how few friends i have had, that really, really hurts. it’s even part of why i stay anonymous.
true story: a few years ago, i had a friend. he was a guy. married to a beautiful woman. father to beautiful children. he was a wonderful man, a great daddy, a provider for his family. and we had a lot in common – we liked the same tv shows, found humor in the same things, liked the same music, agreed on a lot of political issues. we disagreed about sports, but that’s ’cause he’s a sports fan and i am decidedly not. we were friends for a while, too. a year or two. and things were going swell, until one day, in celebration of a life-changing event, i bought him a gift, and took it to him at his workplace (in broad daylight, with dozens of people around). the gift was innocuous. it was accompanied by a congratulatory card (i think) and some baked goods. and then – like a ghostly wisp of smoke fading into the night – my friend was gone. texts stopped coming. emails went unanswered. later (much later) i discovered i’d been not only, seemingly, forgotten – but also, deliberately, blocked from his life. i don’t know why. oh, i asked. several times. i apologized, profusely. but no answer came. ever. and i suspect (in fact, i’m fairly certain) what probably happened was his beautiful, kind, loving wife likely said something to the effect of ‘talk to that woman again and i will cut you.’ i was probably called names. home-wrecker. bitch. slut. the sad part is – none of it is true. the sadder part is – if it was said, it wouldn’t have been the first time i’d heard it.
so hear me out, ladies. because i know (because i know, because i know), i’m not the only one that has this same problem. ladies – i do not want your man. i have my own. i love him. dearly.
all i want is to be friends. not friends with benefits. not fuck-buddies. friends. someone else to talk to. someone to laugh at the same stupid shit i laugh at. someone to call me on my shit. someone who won’t judge me. someone who will answer my panicky text about the bizarre dream i was having at 2:20 in the morning with “go the fuck to sleep,” and forgive me for it the next day. maybe we’ll grab lunch. maybe he’ll teach me how to cook something or i might bake him some cookies. i’ll probably give him a birthday gift, and will definitely give him a baby shower gift. you know why? because that’s what friends fucking do. i do the exact same shit with my girl friends.
we don’t tell our significant others who they can have as friends. we don’t tell them to go have fun with their friends and add an asterisk with a small print disclaimer that said friends must have dicks. think about it – if he was doing that to you, telling you to only have women as friends, would you like it? (answer – no. you’d fucking hate it. believe me; been there, done that, got the scars to prove it) come on! i mean, i have a lot of insecurities (and i mean, a lot), but losing my man to another woman is not one of them. you know why? because we communicate. we trust. and we sure as hell don’t make rules for one another. try it.