My Lady

Let me tell you about my best friend.

No, this isn’t going to be one of those gushing, Lifetime: Television for Women, sharing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s while discussing boys type of story.

It’s more of a drinking whiskey while discussing people we dislike immensely type of story.

She’s an amazing gal.

She’s the type of girl who will warn you that Dr. Pepper & vodka don’t mix; and even when you ignore her warning & do it anyway, she will pick you up off of the bathroom floor and help you into bed.

She’s the lady who will grab a bowl of Corn Flakes & watch the M.C. Hammer biopic with you early in the morning while in Daytona during Spring Break.

She’s the gal who affixes a ton of funny & pleasant post it notes to your dorm room door when you go away for the weekend & sing impromptu songs about your terrible roommate on the ukulele when you return.

My lady & I met under the most convenient circumstances. During summer orientation before our freshman year, there was some bonding exercise we were required to do. And the two of us decided that it wasn’t for us. And thus, a friendship was born out of laziness. Or perhaps a hatred for cheerful group activities. At any rate, it worked. We formed a small group of five by the fall, but as everyone fell off & went cuckoo-bananas, we stuck together. My first roommate even disliked me because I was friends with my lady, and, as I was announcing my plans to move out to a less hateful room, I told her, “you can kick me out, but it’s not going to stop.”

Because I knew my lady...

Through ups & downs & falling outs & make-ups & silly boys & other weirdness, when Halbastram proposed, there was no one else I would consider as my Maid of Honor than my lady.

We wore pink jelly bracelets & pink 80’s dresses. Then we played “pass the cherry” with our closest friends & family at the reception.

My horrendous highway driving does not offend her. She just reminds me that I might want to stay in my lane.

When she moved away, I was happy for her but at the same time I was sad that I was losing one of the few non-lame people in the western suburbs.

We don’t always connect: I play a Sammy Hagar song & she asks, “why do you own this?” But she loves me anyway.

She flew in from L.A. to throw me a birthday party with our most awesome friends as well as some pretty awful people who segregated themselves to the other side of the party. But we didn’t care: we had alcohol, which made them somewhat tolerable.

We go dumpster diving, we watch Maury at the same time in our respective time zones, we text Seinfeld lines, we agree that there’s nothing “jolly” about Joliet, we started the yo-yo craze…no wait, that wasn’t us.

Anywho, we’re getting older but our adventures are just going to get better.

And I can’t wait.