I have this friend, who I love with all my heart. I love her to the moon and back especially because she has the brightest of souls. She brings light to a room when she walks into one. She is the kind that I know I can count on, no matter what. Let’s call her Shirley.
Shirley is amazing. And I’m not just saying that because I want a pack of oreos next time she comes visiting. I’m not saying she is so just to get a couple of eclairs from her next time I see her. But I like to think that Shirley is a magician. She has this one trick; The Disappearing Act.She is genuinely a remarkable being, when she is single that is.
Shirley totally changes on me when a guy touches into the folds of her heart. She goes inside out on me, one of her best friends. Shirley totally blocks me out. She builds a wall in between her life and the new catch. She goes all in every single time. Reason: She has found “The One”.
When Shirley has a boyfriend, you could make plans, because you miss each other and it has indeed been a while, plan everything out, the food, the venue, how many people are invited or it is just the two of us, and she won’t show up. She will, probably a month later, tell you that the boyfriend called or needed a hug that one cold night.
Shirley becomes a moth drawn into a flame that is the opposite sex. She becomes a hyena to a lion’s scraps. She gets so attached that nothing can break her concentration on the guy.
Woo unto you if you dare tell Shirley that her new boyfriend is a cheat or a flirt. Tell her even that she is too good for him and see your contact get deleted right in your face. You are doomed if you say you have heard rumours that he isn’t at all a saint. Because to Shirley, her boyfriend is her Messiah. He is the one good grain from a pile of chaff, which you have now joined.
And I’m used to this. Every time Shirley shuts me out, I wait one or two months at most to get that ever so farmiliar text on Instagram or facebook telling me to text her and that she “lost all contacts”. I wait on that text because it always comes, and Shirley comes a-knocking, with my oreos and eclairs, to cry on my ever warm shoulder, till the next catch arrives. And I don’t mind it. Because I know she is always there, somewhere.
I love you Shirley.