For The Girls

A Story by Jennifer Hart

I love my friends. You should, too.

Ever have a friend that you can tell absolutely anything to? I have a friend like that. I actually have a few. Now, I’m not sure what that says about them, but it says that I am pretty cool. But really, either there is something wrong with these women, being that some of the things I tell them should never be spoken out loud, and they sit and listen anyway, or I’m not as bad as I sometimes think I am. The best part is that they get me, the truly understand what I am saying when I spill a compilation of bent up obscenities about whatever I happen to be ranting that day. I love my friends.

I don’t know how each individual friendship actually started, except that we had seen each other at gatherings or had other mutual acquaintances. What I do know is that it was easy to see that I was not the only one rolling my eyes at the blabbering’s of the dimwits we were in the presence of. I think that at one point, in the beginning, our eyes crossed paths, as they were doing this ‘rolling’ that I speak of, and in seeing someone else in the same frame of mind, we knew that we would be buddies. It isn’t that there aren’t others who see what we see, a twisted and completely ignorant work of human being put together in someone that is standing before us, is that we are the ones that forget to think our usually reactions at the stupidity of others, but, instead, say what has passed through our minds at the moment we witness futility. Yes, my faithful companions in this life journey were also born without filters between their brains and mouths, and I love them for that.

We have shared many joys, me and my fellow female friends, proudly cheering each other on when we approach the point of success in something we have been working on. We have listened to illogical whims, that we both know are not of realistic nature, but allowed the rants to be fully disclosed, getting it all out, before we softly apply words of hope to help ease each other’s pains. We have laughed at our own atrocities, the pouring out of absolutely absurd ideas, and we have walked away from those banters with undergarments a bit more moist as we lost all control of urinary functions in the midst of all the hilarity. We have pointed out the irrationalities of each other’s wishes and wants, like finding a man who actually thinks before he acts, or expectations of our husbands actually doing something other than modeling what a couch potato should look like. We have shared secrets of indiscretions, either real, or dreamed, and the steamy goings on, or lack of, in the bedroom. Together we have stood in that gym, gawking at the sweaty young men who spend hours upon hours building their muscular repertoire. And we have laughed at the hairy, apelike males in need of a good head to toe Brazilian waxing. We simply have a good time.

Whether or not we are right or wrong, we have formed alliances in which each being solidly knows no matter the occasion, we shall overcome and exceed, together. Our friendships have endured thus far, and it is easy to imagine that we shall be old and naturally grey, although knowing me and my friends, a good dye job will never be out of order, and we will be just as vulgar and rude then as we are on this day. Our breast may be in a different place by then, the laugh lines deep upon our faces, but we will still be rolling these eyes at the idiocy of others, and we will sit looking, no longer able to stand, I’m sure, at the hard bodied young men, knowing that they will never add up to what the women of their day want them to be. But as we look to our left and right we will see, God willing our eyes still work, that we partners in life and crime are still as badass that day as we are right now. To my girls, my loves, keep on keeping on and I will gladly stand with you and laugh my life away.