Good Friends Are Hard To Find

This morning I was standing in line at Duchess Bake Shop trying to take a picture of my new Berg & Betts watch against all the delicious pastries in the background. I wanted to show the world this black and gold beauty on my wrist because my upcoming 12 Days of Giveaways is making me vibrate with excitement. When I asked Jessie, the founder of Berg & Betts, if she would partner with me to give one of you lucky people a watch, she surprised me by sending two. This is the very first thing I've ever received as a blogger so, trying to be the good blogger I am, I took two pictures and texted them to a couple of my closest friends, asking which one I should choose. 

"I don't really like either of them" my best friend said. 

I looked at the pictures again. I kind of agreed; they were basically the same shot. Who was I kidding anyways? I usually care about my Instagram photos deeply for about 10 seconds until I realize that while I was debating if I should add +1 or +2 of exposure to the photo my kids have completely destroyed my house and are playing in the toilet like it's a sensory bin. Besides, it's just an Instagram post and even though it would be fun to sit in this beautiful bakery eating my photo-worthy quiche while I leisurely set up shot after shot of a sparkly new watch, l see my toddler run past me in the corner of my eye and I turn around just in time to watch him shove his croissant into the free public library box and I know that my level of caring about these two nearly identical photos has just lowered from a 10 to a 1.

See? My life is very riveting. You can tell that I tried super hard, right? Spoiler Alert: I posted the first one.

Then my darling friend texts me this:

First of all:

Yes, I do have a group conversation called the Bang Ass Bitches. Alas, that story is for another day. 


The real reason my friend felt weird about the photo is because of my "unruly" arm hair.  This particular gal and I have been friends since we were 12; that is exactly 20 years of friendship right there. I felt offended when I read that text; not because she thought my hair was distracting in the picture, but because she hadn't noticed my insane arm hair before. I mean, how can I be sure she loves me when she doesn't even know that my arm hair is at least 1.5 inches long? I remember being in middle school and asking other people to roll the dice or move my board game pieces for me because I didn't want to reach my hand out in the middle for all to see.

After laughing at my two blonde friends who are basically like hairless cats; asshole hairless cats, at that. I felt good. I knew right then and there that these jerks had my back. I knew that when I'm in a coma in the hospital they will come and pluck my chin hairs because that shit matters. I know that they will tell me the cold hard truth when it matters; like when dry shampoo isn't cutting it anymore or when I try to be a big girl and do my own eye make-up. I know they will protect me from hairy embarrassments and that they always have my best at heart. I bet if they were with me this morning, they would have offered up their own wrist in a humble act of true love. I love my jerky blonde friends and I wish them a life full of hairless selfies; God knows I grow enough for the three of us.