Why My Husband Isn't My Best Friend

We've all seen them.  You know the social media posts.  They say something along the lines of, "On this day - fill in the blank - years ago I married my best friend and soul mate...blah blah, I wuuuf youuuuuu..."

Gawd.  Call me cynical, but I loathe those posts.  My husband isn't my best friend.  And really?  Soul mate is pushing it, too.

Yes.  I said it.

Don't get me wrong. We have a happy, solid marriage and an exceptional life together.  We share love, companionship, passion, adventure, and a spoiled Pugbull.  And I wouldn't trade any of it.

But, he's still not my best friend.

Albany, NY - 2013

I met my best friend when I was 4 years old.  We live thousands of miles apart these days and don't get to see each other as often as we would like, but she's one of those special people who I can affectionately include in countless memories - from childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, right on up to now.

Memories like snuggling up in her parent's comfy, queen-sized bed on Saturdays so we could read together.  For hours!

Massapequa Park, NY - 1979

And walking around the living room peering into a mirror held under our chins so we could "walk on the ceiling."

And then there was the late elementary school period of time where we became obsessed with playing basketball on the illegally installed basketball hoop on the telephone pole outside our houses.

We'd be out there in the way-too-early morning for a quick session of shooting hoops before the school bus came to shuttle us off to good ole Birch Lane.

And can't forget roller skating around on the smooth, brown tiled floors in my mother's basement while listening to the Grease soundtrack.  On a record player.  Damn, we're old. 

The hubby? He's my companion in life.  The one I want by my side for all the nonsense, good & bad.  He's the one I know will be right there with me for whatever the day-to-day may bring.  The one I can fondly say falls asleep exactly 30 seconds after deciding it's time for bed.

Kodiak, AK - 2014

The one who I know will harass me about going 20 plus years believing the 1973 song "Radar Love" by Golden Earring was called "Red Hot Love."

Or believing that the lyrics to "How Deep is Your Love?" by the Bee Gees had the line "...And you come to me in a submarine..."  Yeah.  That would be on a summer breeze.  Not in a submarine.  Doesn't even make sense.

I have dozens of examples of my creative song titles and lyrics. - And I know I can always count on the hubby's good-natured and totally necessary ridicule.  Who else can I rely on to call me out?  Especially when I think "The Zephyr Song" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers actually has lyrics that say "fly away on my cell phone..."  It even has zephyr in the title, but somehow it became cell phone to me.  I can't explain it.

He's one of my favorite people.  I wouldn't want to reminisce and tell the same stories over and over with anyone else.  And he makes me laugh almost everyday.  Not at him.  With him.  Most of the time. 

But no, my husband isn't my best friend. That position was filled a long time ago. By someone who expertly spotted me while I confidently mastered the minor gymnastic feat known as the "penny-drop."

And schooled me in the art of collections like Strawberry Shortcake Dolls and Garbage Pail Kid cards.

And let me borrow her faded black stretchy jeans whenever I wanted to.

And watched me cross the street from her house to mine each night "just in case."  Which was always, always followed by a sing-song chant serenaded in unison across the span of glowing street lights and blacktop from our respective front doors:  "See ya tomorrow at the bus stop..."
 
And I miss her always. 

Ta-ta for now.


"There's never any substitute for those friendships of childhood that survive into adult years. Those are the ones in which we are bound to one another with hoops of steel.”
- Alexander McCall Smith

Key West, FL - 2009