I hope you’re not sick of the birthday posts, because one of
my bests had her birthday this week. The
only bad part about being friends with Jillian is that a little part of me
always knows that I don’t deserve her.
Jill is the friend you call when you wake up in the middle of the night
at a fraternity house you shouldn’t be sleeping at (no names here…), the friend
who takes the smallest closet/middle seat/last spot in line, the friend who
never forgets to call or write.
When I see people who are so obviously flawed in one
department or another—cheap, selfish, unreasonable—but who somehow seem to have
no knowledge of said flaw, I sometimes get nervous. I once tried to figure out what my flaw is
that is obvious to the world but unknown to me, with my cousin, Sam, but we
couldn’t figure it out. She clearly
thinks I’m perfect. Love her. Anyway, with Jill, I know I am so often the
person on the other side of the table or the end of the line who I don’t like
very much. With Jill, I can be dramatic,
irrational, and the world can be all about me and no, she hasn’t once walked
away, turned up her music, hung up the phone.
(More than I can say about some of my other best friends, ahem, Carrie,
who hang up on me simply for “speaking too slow.”) Or, with Jill, I can just not say anything at
all, and I know she’ll get it.
I once called Jill in the midst of a “personal crisis.” When I heard her voicemail begin, I started
debating in my head whether or not I should leave a message. By the time the voicemail ended, I hadn’t
quite decided so I stayed on the line for a moment, silent, and then hung
up. A few minutes later, Jill sent me a
text. She was at her boyfriend’s house
for dinner, but was I okay. Yes, just wanted to chat. She wrote back, Are you sure? Of course, I
wasn't sure. But I wrote, Yes, all good. How Jill knew to call me that
moment, I’ll never know, but I didn’t pause before launching into my sad song
and dance.
Jillian, thank you for putting up with me. And thank you for visiting this weekend with
Ryan. Austin and I officially voted you
the best houseguests. Austin almost
keeled over when you guys rolled up the air mattress and folded the
sheets. And he enjoyed having a bud at
the bar. Next time, I promise that Liz
is not choosing the rendezvous bar. Liz,
that bar closed at 11 p.m. on a Friday.
Oh, and you didn’t show up.
Nonetheless, your appearance at the second bar was much
appreciated. (You’re lucky your pretty.)
Happy belated Jillian. Love, love, love.
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