Awkward things.

I Hate My Best Friend

on July 11, 2013


My best friend is beautiful; annoyingly, she is unaware of this fact. She is also funny, stupidly cool and some sort of hot Einstein. My best friend is perfect, and I hate her for it. Now, I’m not just saying this to be a good friend, in that backwards way we females have, “You’re so pretty,” “No way, I look like a bird attacked my hair and then went to the toilet on my face. YOU’RE so pretty.” No. I am saying it via the aching green monster that resides in the corners of my mind. If she was your best friend, you’d hate her too.

Her beauty is her worst crime. She is effortlessly gorgeous. The amount of times I’ve said, “What did you do to your hair?” because she has cascading waves a mermaid would shave her head for, or “You look extra pretty today. How? Tell me your secrets.” And she says, SHE SAYS “I haven’t touched my hair/face/wardrobe.” I say burn the witch. This is obviously witchcraft and something simply must be done. I am physically unable to go to sleep without waking up as an ogre, and more Shrek than Princess Fiona. What is the dillio? And the crazy woman is camera shy. As in shy of cameras. With THAT face. ‘Tis witchcraft.

I hear what you’re thinking, supportive people of the internet. She’s pretty eh? She’s had enough given to her on a gilded plate; she must be as thick as a brick wall. Nope. Not even. She is the smartest person I know, like psychic smart. Stephen Hawking? Pfft. You wish you were smart, now THIS girl is smart. The only time I feel superior intellectually is when maths wanders into our lives, stands between us with a blank look on its face and asks to be solved. Then I pick up my gauntlet and I am a hero. But when the maths is gone, I am once again left pondering the subject of chicken of the sea.

So she’s pretty and she’s smart, surely that’s enough? Like, when they were handing out attributes, she must have paid someone off, because This. Isn’t. Fair! But no, it gets worse. She is also a super tomboy; she gets a cape and everything! Ok, she might not have a cape, but she might as well, given the amount of stuff life awards to her. She likes Star Wars and Stargate and lots of star-type things. She can play shooty games and win. She can discuss sports and cars. She can even parallel park. It is a proven fact, (or possibly an unproven theory, depending on how likely you are to sue me,) that men want women that think like men. Basically, the entire male population (maybe,) wants Megan Fox’s character in Transformers. That is my best friend. Ugh.

Because said prodigal vision of awesomeness gets so much attention from men, (think tongues landing with a gross plop on the floor,) you’d think she would be aware of it, right? Right? Nope, nuh-uh, not at ALL. Even with all of her IQ points and magical witch powers, she is completely clueless of the men under her spell, which is good really, given that she’s married. But, to me, that only makes it more unfair. You’re married woman, you can let yourself go, develop the personality of a broom and the conversation skills to match. You can let all the stereotypical witchy features come out now, it’s alright, I know. There there. I have the biggest urge to drag her up by the ring finger and walk her around by it. I’m sure her husband would thank me, as well as all my single ladies; I got your backs.

So I am convinced that she’s a robot; a magical, spell-casting robot or maybe an alien, sent to snare men and take them back to her home planet to be probed; (sorry aliens, if you’re reading this, I’ve pretty much only got pop culture references to go on. If you’re around, we’ll go for a coffee and have a chat about it.) So why am I friends with such an annoyingly wonderful pain in the backside? Why do I put up with my own reflection next to hers and my obsessive newfound adoration of mental arithmetic? Why don’t I just set fire to her or check if she floats? I do it because she’s perfect. In a weird way, everything I hate about her is everything that I love, (apart from the beautiful, she should stop that). And the fact that she doesn’t let any of it go to her (pretty little) head or let my hatred get in the way of our relationship, makes her a pretty damn amazing friend. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that my best friend is perfect and I love her for it. If she was your best friend, you’d love her too.


4 responses to “I Hate My Best Friend

  1. Sam says:

    This was amazing! You are a kick ass writer! I feel like I can totally relate to this. Everyone has that one person that they love, but “hate” at the same time. This reminds me of my best friend, but the funniest thing about is that, who knows, they might think these things about us. When I tell my BFF she is pretty, she waves it off, and I’m like SERIOUSLY, GIRL? Sometimes we are unwilling or unable to see the beauty we possess especially when we are raised to avoid being vain or self-indulgent.

    • Awww! Thank you so, sooo much!
      Haha. Don’t you wish you could just shake her?!
      But yes, you’re right. I’m the same way, whenever I get a compliment I’m like ‘Pfft, purr-lease!’
      Maybe we’re all supermodels with BDD. I might just decide to think that now!
      Thanks for reading!

  2. Elena says:

    I really like the way you write, you made me feel so realted to you ever though I’ve never been in that situation before xD

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