Wait, okay. Let me tell you. If you had told me when we met when he was 15 that he’d eventually be one of my very best friends, I probably would have smacked you right in the face and called you a goddamn liar. Or maybe I wouldn’t have, cos I knew he had the potential to grow into a really neat man, and I love when I’m right about shit like that.
If more than a few days go by without me checking in, he messages me to make sure I’m not sunk too far down into a sneaky hate spiral. He sends me links to songs he thinks I’ll like and makes me watch tv I would stubbornly refuse to watch otherwise. He’s my diligent note-taker for this project I’m working on. He buys my kids birthday presents and actually asks about how they’re doing and what kind of stuff they’re into now. He has volunteered to take my place in my family should I die a horrible death (actually, maybe that one should worry me). Whatever. He’s a pretty great guy, and my life would be far poorer without him in it.
Happy birthday, Willikers. I’m super sorry you just lost the game. ❤
(no rules, drink when the birthday boy tells you.)