“Call me sentimental, but there’s no one in the world that I’d like to see get dysentery more than you.”
There’s not a single person in the world I’d rather sit with while you lay on the bathroom floor waiting to throw up. And I don’t think I’d jump at the opportunity to lay in the Common to do Sudoku puzzles with too many people either. You’re really just a great friend and you’re a wonderful person. You let me read my books and cry. You let me watch Say Yes to the Dress and cry. You let me watch sappy chick flicks and (you guessed it) cry. And you listen. And you understand. When I get insecure and awkward, you say the right thing and give me a hug. You accidentally kiss me in front of your parents when they sneak up behind us and you and I play it off together like you didn’t just tackle me, grab my boob, pick me up and kiss me several times on the mouth while playing frisbee. You just throw it back to me and act like nothing happened until they’re out of earshot and then you fall onto the sand and get that mortified look you get when someone sees us hug or kiss. It’s quite lovely. You’re quite lovely. Thanks for not leaving.
I wonder why you think that’s alright. Why you can mutter condescending remarks about my terrible sense of humor or my improper table etiquette under your breath while we’re all playing a board game on a Friday night. And then, why you do mind when I’m the slightest bit offended.
