My best friend, Shelley, is insane. Not “gnaw your way through the leather wrist restraints” mental, but she certainly qualifies enough to carry the laminated membership card. I’ve known her for a good few years now and she’s that very best type of friend… the sort that will listen in silence as you air your grievances at her for an hour, give it a good long think, and then say, “Yes, I can understand why you might feel that way… but you do realise you’re talking utter crap, don’t you?” I need a friend like that, to keep me grounded in ways that well-meaning but less deranged friends simply don’t. And she’s done all this from the other side of the planet… because Shelley and I have never even met. Somewhere along the line she went from being an “internet friend” to just being my friend and the distance became immaterial.
The glory of the internet is that the world truly has become a much smaller place unless a) you’re attempting to either dust it or find your keys in it or b) you’re trying to walk it in heels. Heels and I are not friends and I just can’t get from one place to another in them, no matter how small the journey may be. Maybe it’s my natural lack of grace. Maybe it’s because I have calf muscles like a Russian shot putter. Not that I know any Russian shot putters ( that I’m aware of ), but I do share a love of cheese with my friend in America, an adoration of vampires with my buddy in Sweden and a passion for marmite on toast with my pal in the UK. Shelley is Australian, but I’m trying very hard not to hold it against her. *chuckle*
So, it was my bald-headed amigo ( she shaved her head because I did exactly the same thing on a whim last month…sucker hahahaha )who instantly jumped to mind when today’s blogging prompt was posted : “Name someone who deserves more credit than they get. And for bonus points, how to change things so they get more “.
So.. why exactly does she deserve more credit than she’s getting?
Well, it’s been a hard couple of years here, and sometimes it really has been a case of struggling to get through it all day by day, hour by hour. Whilst I have a supportive and caring Better Half, sometimes a girl just needs a good girly chum to make labia jokes with as a way to cope with the sheer terror of seeing a child struggle and being powerless to stop it.
That just makes her a good friend, yeah, but what’s the credit deal?
The deal is : She just doesn’t see it. She doesn’t realise how much her support, her caring, her humour and her random packages of tourist junk in the mail mean to me. She doesn’t realise the honour she does me by confiding her hopes, dreams, failures and successes when we talk. She hasn’t seen me creased up with laughter on my darkest and most hopeless of days simply because she’s told me that she’s dyed her entire body blue for the office christmas party. She’s smart, funny and the best friend I’ve ever had. When I confided in her that finances were dire she went into a flurry of “How to give you some money” ideas with the words “Please let me do this for you, let me pay you back for your friendship, let me be a good friend.” More than anything my frog pyjama-wearing friend needs to give herself the credit due, because I think she’s wonderful. Strange, slightly surreal, imperfectly perfect and brilliant.
So how is she going to get more credit? Well, I’m going to show her this and maybe, just maybe, she’ll start to realise just how truly fabulous she is and how she’s been nothing BUT a good friend from the very first day I met her.
Even if she makes me squeeze my head in the scanner and post the result on Facebook for her amusement :