My girlfriends are my girlfriends, but they’re not my friends-friends. Not really.
And that, obviously, is a — maybe even the — problem.
It hit me tonight. I’m out with my friend, an actual, real, close and true and deep, friend, and we’re at a bar, tossing back drinks, hanging with her coworkers, and grinding to whatever the DJ is dropping. Tight beats, all the right moves, it’s a symphony of the body.
And she called me out on it because it was a revelation to her that I could be this way and that no one had ever noticed.
They hadn’t noticed, and by they I mean my exes, because I had never let them in as much as I’d let my friends in, most specifically this friend.
And then after shock she was sad, on my behalf, because according to her “they were missing out” and me with them.
Next time I date someone I’m going to focus not on trying to impress her or to wow her, I’m going to focus on letting her know me.
All of me.