til the end

Last night I skipped the gym, I skipped the healthy dinner, I skipped staying home and resting like I’d been dreaming of all day long.

I went over to my best friend’s house and drank wine, instead.

If you consider Arbor Mist to be wine, that is. I don’t. But I like it anyway.

We’ve known each other since the first day of high school, and we’ve been best friends for nearly as long. She was my best friend until graduation and through four years of college. I was her best friend through a marriage, a divorce, a child, and a new fiance. We are both grown-up people now, which means we don’t eat sheet cakes without slicing them, we rarely embark upon evenings that require clothing swaps and designated drivers, and we don’t just stop by to hang out. Instead, there are missed phone calls and work schedules and bedtimes.

But we are still best friends and I love her to death because…

A) Her child calls me Essica, and she picked me a bouquet of flowers before I stopped over.

B) No matter how far apart our social circles swing, I can still talk to her about pretty much everything. I don’t mean “I can confide in her” (although I can), I mean, there’s never any kind of story that I wouldn’t tell her because I didn’t think she would be interested, and there’s never a story she couldn’t tell me. We entertain each other mightily.

C) She won’t drink Skyy Berry because it’s “too fruity,” but she considers Arbor Mist to be wine.

D) She refuses to let friends pay her way, grumbles when someone else gets the check,  even though she might struggle to keep the creditors at bay,  pay her cell phone bill, or move into an apartment in a nicer neighborhood. But when I start to moan about how I’m running my finances into the ground, she says

“Don’t worry. John and I are buying the bar, and if we make as much money as Jeff says we will, you can borrow money from me if you need it

Oh, I will miss her so.

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