Hey, Thanks Friend

Hey, thanks friend.

Thanks for letting me in, even when I show up on your doorstep rockin’ an oily topknot and dirty sweats with a crotch hole so big that you can see my period panties. I’m happy to see that your bathroom isn't stocked with the XL tampons; you know I prefer the regular ones.

Thanks for sending me six Snapchats of your poop, asking me if that shade of green is normal. (It isn't.) Also, thanks for screenshotting my ugliest mugs and only whipping them out when you need a laugh, AND you've double checked that no one’s around to witness my high definition zits and quadruple chins. Your discretion is appreciated.

Thanks for silently accepting that your food is my food, and my food is my food. My food is sometimes your food, but I’m weird about it, and you understand.

Thanks for not walking away from me when my filter fails to kick in when we’re in public, even when people give you the look. It’s a mixture of pity and annoyance that says, “you should muzzle her…immediately.” You’re impervious to it—you don’t shrug sheepishly or pull out the duct tape in your purse. No, you shoot back with a stink eye infused with the animosity of a rabid wolverine, a glare that snarls, “buy your organic bananas and mind your damn business, lady; I get a kick outta talking about yeast infections, especially when I’m in line at Whole Foods.”

Thanks for liking all my awkward selfies and supporting my food porn habits on social media throughout the years. Yes, even the ones where I misguidedly used the Kelvin filter or edited my nose off with overexposure. Those pictures were dreadful, but you made me feel beautiful.

Thanks for patiently listening to my exploits without calling up the local nunnery or forcing me to take a vow of chastity. I’m not convincing when I make that sweeping declaration that I've finally learned my lesson. You know I’ll slip up again, but you tell me it’ll be okay, and I believe you, because you've never lied to me yet.

Thanks for making me take my insecurities and doubts and forcing me to shove them where the sun don’t shine. I needed to be slapped to my senses when I was throwing a fiesta of pity for myself. You've got quite an arm on you, by the way. Girl, do you lift? Ha. That’s a joke, we both know you don’t work out. You smacked me so hard, I saw stars, millions and millions of them. In hind sight, you gave me exactly what I needed—you always do. Those stars gave me guidance, they showed me exactly where I needed to be, and look at me now.

Hey, thanks friend. Thanks a lot. I’ll pay you back one day. Don’t I still owe you twenty bucks? You’ll get that back one day too.

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