I know we could be friends, and it would probably be great. I have no doubt. You’re likely wondering why we seem incapable of making that leap from highly interested acquaintances to legitimate buddies, despite clear evidence that we should, and clear opportunity that we might. Well, sweet stranger, here is your answer:
I said I would call but I didn’t
We’ve met a few times, have lots of mutual friends, similar interests and hangouts, and at least once, we’ve grabbed each other’s hands during a chance drunken encounter and vowed to “seriously call each other and go get a drink” because we “should probably be best friends, right?” And swear to god, I meant it. I still mean it. But, I’m also flaky as shit. I’m working on it. And when I grow up and become better at nurturing budding friendships, I’m going to absolutely, definitely, maybe call you.
I slept with your boyfriend
Umm, this is a little uncomfortable… I don’t know if you know this, but I kinda did sex things with your boyfriend. It was a long time ago, and it’s not that I still have feelings for him (assuming I had feelings in the first place). It’s that I am utterly incapable of looking you in the eye over a table of tapas and hearing any of the assuredly interesting things you’re saying over the booming voice in my head shouting, “DOES SHE LET HIM DO THAT WEIRD THING YOU WOULDN’T LET HIM DO WITH YOU? DOES SHE?! DID HE TELL HER ABOUT THAT WEIRD THING I WANTED HIM TO DO?!” Since we’re new friends, and you’re still boning him, I can’t just, like, ask you. But please call me when you’ve cast him aside, and we can freely compare notes, and move forward into the sunny, unfettered fields of our unexplored friendship.
You slept with my boyfriend
I wish I was a big enough person, but I’m not. I have a million questions, and I don’t actually want the answers to any of them. Call me in my next life when I’m emotionally evolved enough to be all zen and shit about it.
I have intimacy issues
Listen, the only reason I have any friends is because we became close bosom buddies during a younger, cleaner, more hopeful time in my life when I had only been fucked over by a negligible number of people, and still possessed the optimism to be vulnerable and deeply honest with new people. I don’t really have that anymore. My existing friends were grandfathered into my currently disgruntled, misanthropic disposition, and even still, I only trust those assholes as far as I can throw ‘em. I feel guarded and dismissive of people in general right now, so our friendship has an annoyingly low ceiling of intimacy it can reach. The silver lining: I retain just enough optimism to hope that one day soonish, the tide will shift, and I’ll be back in the mood to dig into some new, true-blue friendships. Consider yourself wait-listed. In the meantime, I look forward to our next superficial exchange at 2am in a loud bar.
You live in an inconvenient part of town
You’re great and all, but uh, I can’t really commit to traveling to your neighborhood. Get in my bubble, girl.
You’re a more awesome version of me
That’s fairly self-explanatory, right? There is a range of radness I like my friends to fit into: they should be intelligent and motivated and exciting and sexy enough to light up our interactions with challenging new perspectives and engaging conversation and fun adventures, but not so accomplished or beautiful or in possession of any admirable qualities to the extent that it makes me feel bad about myself. I know how that sounds. This is the epitome of an “it’s not you, it’s me” situation, and hopefully it will thoroughly illustrate the level of shittiness in me that I don’t want illuminated by you and your endless goodness. Call me when you get into a destructive, co-dependent relationship, or get a bad haircut, or develop a drinking problem, or basically anything that gives me a balancing opportunity to feel superior for a minute around you.