I have a lot of friends, but I only have a few that are special, and close. Of these, some are closer than others. I have one person in particular who I consider my best friend: I’ll call her Mary.
Mary and I met many years ago. My husband and I had recently bought our first house, and a friend of mine from college, Jill, lived just two blocks away. Jill and I hadn’t seen each other in years, but met again when I got hired at the place where she worked.
One weekend I was invited to a Pampered Chef party at her house. (Does anyone remember those parties? They were like Tupperware or Mary Kay parties, where the host would cook with their products (pots, pans, and the like), and they’d give little prizes and try and get you to buy their expensive, but pretty decent, products). I had never been to one, and it sounded fun, so I went.
I knew no one there, except Jill, and a lot of the women she invited were quite a bit older than me. We didn’t have a lot to talk about, really, so I was mostly reading the brochures when Mary came in. We hit it off amazingly well, and became friends. Over the years, we’ve become closer, and she knows things about me that no one else knows. We can talk about anything and everything, and we do: the good, the bad, the dangerous, life in general, sex, the situations that have happened with our men, the funny stories from the adult store I used to work for. She knows how to keep a secret, as do I, and we’ve bonded over many things.
As time has past, we don’t talk as much as we used to, but when we get together, it’s like we were together just the day before. I cherish her friendship, and I’m so glad we met those many years ago.