Monkey Business

After changing half a dozen schools and moving across cities, the potent yet fragile nature of friendship is something that I have come to familiarize myself with. By now, I believe that it’s likely to spend a year with someone and be best friends with them for the next many years. It’s likely to stumble upon someone who gets you like your childhood friend never did. And it’s completely likely to care for someone irrespective of how crazy they might be.

Well, this post is about a friend that I know for two years now. Being a fellow proud north eastern, I was a little sure my heart would sway her way the very first time that she introduced herself. She was so tiny and yet so confident. Little did I know that she would turn out to be the monkey person who’d torture me to death with her lame-ness. I kid. She cracks the funniest of PJs and she cracks them darn well.

In the last two years, she has been the worst kind of influence on me. We have discovered infinite restaurants and coffee shops, shopped to being broke and drank to insanity together. I wonder how richer, thinner and saner I would have been if not for her.  Sigh.

Well, I wrote this not ‘cause she turns 20 in another four days; not because she had once told me how much she would love for someone to dedicate a blog post to her; not because she took me to the best momo and brownie place in town; not even because she is extremely adorable and has cared for me like no one does. I wrote this because if I said this to her face, she would just laugh and call me gay and I wanted to save the embarrassment for another day. 

So, this was about the mad little woman that I know, and even though she loves Akon and Justin Bieber, I could never do without her.

For our love of dogs.