I’m going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, “Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life!” to form a line, so that in an orderly fashion, I can walk down said line and look you all in the eye.
Is your husband really, truly your best friend? Really?
Because mine isn’t.
When people ask me how I met my husband, I usually just say, “Church.” (I am lying- it was in a club after a grueling deadline. You know the fun of working in the magazine trade?)
It was the spring of 2010, I was 23 years old and celebrating putting the magazine to bed and we went out on a wild party. Deadline is over. Yay!
I had just gone through a divorce a year earlier, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, I swore I would never get married again. Maybe I was naive to think I could bargain with life, but nevertheless, I laid out my terms in my journal:
“ I’ll never get married again.”
Mr D wasn’t really my type. My type was wild, creative and messy at the best of times, the kind who wore lots of cargo pants and funny Oppi Koppi t-shirts, possibly played the guitar and most definitely was a member of the High Mile Club. But D was different, and drove a smart car and was always dressed impeccable. He was clean shaven and smellt like heaven.
Regardless, meeting D started off as really awesome friends, with interests in astrology and the love of smoking hubbly under the stars.
And then one night sitting outside it was like- he would be a really cool father… and that is how it started.
D is my polar opposite. He’s an introvert; I’m an extrovert. I love nature and the outdoors; He should do his PhD in building hotrods. He’s calm, steady and always in a good mood. I’m creative, a roller-coaster of emotions and quite frankly — prone to craziness.
I want best friend who will tell me I need one more rainbow wrap and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel I’ve been wronged and hear her say, “What a bitch! I can’t believe she said that to you!” I want to be married to a man who says, “Who gives a shit what she thinks?” I want a best friend that drinks coffee with me.
D isn’t my “best friend.”
I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a knife or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I can’t say the same for D.
We are partners. Parents. Lovers. But not best friends. And that is just the way it is. And sometimes when he drives me mad I can see myself on a CI episode: “ In a quiet suburb in Randburg, everything looks calm. Until one day Heleen did the unthinkable. She set the garage on fire”
But then, in a split second, I can remember the good- the man who buys me shoes, who kisses me goodnight. Who is the father of my kids. Who always says sorry. The person who cares.
D isn’t my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, I’ll ditch him in a second for a friend. But when things gets real, I don’t care if anyone is standing with me but him. He’s my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. D is the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanor.
I’m also going to need all of you people who say, “Thanks for the best 5 years of my life!” to stand in a separate corner and await your own punishment, because marriage isn’t easy, and it most certainly isn’t all happy.
I’d rather say:
“I really appreciate you buying me a Big Mac.”
“Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic.”
“Thank you for buying bread. I forgot”
“Thank you for sorting the City of Joburg account out”
“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 2 years even though I’ve gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Grand Canyon.”
“Thanks for making me coffee when I work late”
“Thank you for supporting my dreams”
I have really super awesome friends, hell, I even have 3 best friends… but there is and will always be, only one D. He’s my husband and that’s enough.