When it’s time to go your own way, you’ve just gotta follow the call and step out into the unknown. But that doesn’t mean you must be alone. And, I’ve embarked on a different kind of love affair than the one I had before. Honestly, I’m surprised. I wasn’t looking for it. I didn’t even mean for it to happen. But here I find myself, all the same. And it’s a metaphorical kind of bling, as exciting and precious as finding a real blue diamond on the sidewalk.
I recently rediscovered some of my friends. But it’s not the kind of friends-with-benefits “rediscovery” (wink, wink) that often happens when you’re single. I’m talking about friends I’ve known for over a decade. And we not only paint the town red–we tear it up, baby.
On my birthday, I met my four BFFs at a downtown watering hole. Everyone was a little jangly that night–broadcasting crackly energy like an AM radio station. We threw back the vino like it was the cure for what ailed us and laughed our asses off over hilarity that only made sense to us. Later, we nearly ended up in a barfight at a local concert, over some drunken tool’s lost honor because one of us presumed to sit down in what we thought was an empty seat while he was off taking a whiz. But we banded together and drove any haters away with a unified front of PBR-swinging attitude.
Basically, the moral of the story is this–whether single or hitched up–when life gets angsty or lonely, if there’s anything whiskey won’t fix, a partner in crime will soothe. And I’m lucky enough to have four bad ass amigas. And so, we are each other’s bitches.