That Should Totally Be A T-Shirt

I have this friend.

The kind of friend who knows everything about me. Yep, even that stuff.

AND SHE STILL LIKES ME.

I decided about three seconds after I got off the phone with her that I was writing about her today, immediately after I had my freak out moment then got my shit together.

Things are hard for her right now. Really fucking hard. Like the hardest that they ever get.

And I'm not there.

I should be.

I wish I was.

But I'm not.

We moved.  Far, far away.

Then life got complicated as it always does and the two of us went years without talking hardly at all.

Then one day she called or I called and we picked back up like nothing else had ever happened. Because that's what real friends can do.

It's pretty awesome.

This woman has seen every side of me, and me of her. When I say that, I mean literally. I was her doula and cried like a baby when her son was born. I've seen things, people.

She's a doula now because I brainwashed her. She's even in a nursing program to become a midwife. I like to think I get some credit for encouraging that nonsense.

We can talk about things like pelvic floor integrity and make jokes about incontinence because when you're a doula and your friend is a doula you can totally talk about shit like that. Then laugh. Then joke that it should be on a t-shirt. Then admit that you would actually wear that t-shirt. And that you'd wear them at the same time and take pictures together.

Even if everyone else thought you were the freaks you are.

I'm sending her a box tomorrow. A care package. It will be filled with as much candy as I can cram in there, because this woman loves candy like a fat kid loves cake.

(it's funny because I was a fat kid)

Seriously though, she has a never ending appetite for candy. She loves Peeps something fierce and eats Skittles in a specific order because that's just what you are supposed to do when you have candy consumption OCD.

This picture is driving her crazy right now because she can't put them in rainbow order.

I'm sending her a box of crap because it's the closest I can get to actually being there with her right now.

Distance is a fucker.

I love you.

You got this.

Call me at 3am and I'll tell you jokes about grown ass women that pee their pants because they squeezed out giant melon heads. For serious. xoxo