Sasee Magazine

I heard a crackle, then the distinctive smell hit my nostrils.

“You burned my hair!” she screamed.

“Sorry, I thought the flame needed to be higher,” I replied, fighting the laughter about to consume me.

It was back in our smoking days. My girlfriend had leaned in to the gas stove to light her cigarette, and I thought the flame needed to be higher; I was wrong. When she looked up, a tuft of smoking, shriveled, pubic-looking hair was perched on top of her newly-exposed, shiny forehead. I looked away, desperate to stifle the agonizing ache of laughter in my face. Unable to contain my sympathy any longer, the laughter exploded from within me. I scrambled to make her feel better, so I reminded her what exceptional eyebrows she had, far superior to my over-plucked, barely-there growths that screamed eyebrow pencil; at least her bangs would grow back. It took 10 years before she finally saw the funny side.

When I got married, my girlfriend was part of the package – two for the price of one. Thankfully, my husband accepted the situation; not that he had any choice. Maybe that’s why Stedman hasn’t proposed to Oprah – he doesn’t want to share his life with two women. The truth is, he already does.

There comes a point in a friendship when it is no longer based on school, work, lifestyle or location. Months pass without a single word, but one phone call and it’s as if you speak every day; you just pick up where you left off. Other women – colleagues, coffee buddies, school Moms – fulfill our temporary needs but, in the big picture, they are all supplemental, because when it comes to friendships, nothing beats the one friendship swamped in history, and the one friend that you love, quirks and all.

When our teacher first introduced “the new girl,” I decided then she would be my new best friend. That was 35 years ago. We have shared priceless years of heartaches, laughter, princes, frogs and blue eye shadow. The only things we didn’t share were diets and clothes. Our size difference was never an obstacle in our friendship, and I loved her for never giving me that one piece of advice that people without a weight problem seem compelled to give. Instead, she bit her skinny tongue and stayed silently supportive through my yo-yo cycles of fat, thin, fat and finally, thin “ish.”

And now, here we were on the most important day of her life.

When the groom asked if anybody wanted to add a few words, I had to speak up. How could I not? Besides, if you can’t gush about your best friend’s qualities, especially the quirky ones, on her wedding day, when can you? I raised my hand. You could have heard a cake crumb drop. I tottered up to the microphone, turned around, and looked out, my mind blank. Curious faces stared back. Seconds lasted minutes, my legs began to wobble, and my friend smiled in nervous anticipation. The surprised groom looked on; a “Best Woman” speech was not part of the plan.

I started talking. “The friendship we shared was not unlike a marriage…” I knew just where to begin.

For better, for worse. It was Saturday night, and her hair ritual was legendary. One full exhausting hour of pulling, drying, primping, and curling until her wavy locks hung perfectly. Finally, she was ready. Time for one last cigarette. She leant in to the stove. I thought the gas flame was too low. I raised it. Oops!

In sickness and in health. When she cried in pain from not being able to scratch during the chicken pox, I rubbed lotion on her tender sores. I didn’t care if I got sick. I missed talking to her so much that being quarantined together had to be more fun. Besides, I always lost weight when I got ill.

In honesty and truth. (A spontaneous substitute, as we hadn’t experienced “richer” yet.) As the fat friend, I was also a card-carrying member of the black-pants brigade. We were in our favorite girlie store when I suddenly saw some “must-have” pants. The problem was they were white, they were corduroy, they were wide-ribbed and I was fat. I was understandably hesitant, but she always made me feel courageous. I picked up the pants; she found a matching top; we were the perfect team. I took a deep breath wishing I had a clothes hanger to help do up the zip. I stood up like a newborn foal taking its first steps. She didn’t comment; she’d seen it all before.

“Do they make my butt look big?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “but that’s because you’ve got a big butt. I think the pants look great though; you should buy them.” What could I say? She was right, so I did.

More stories followed. They were real life, they were funny, they were sad and they were ours. I spoke for everybody when I expressed the joy we felt about their marriage; after all, we had met her frogs. As the fat friend, I had been thankful even for a frog, but she had no excuse. I asked everybody to raise their glasses to the beautiful bride, before making one final toast to the happy couple.

“I hope the love we all feel for you today will surround you forever.”

With that, I stepped away from the microphone and strutted confidently back to my champagne. Nervous eyes were beaming, and dry eyes were welling. I had never felt prouder about speaking up, ever. Besides, why isn’t there a Best Woman’s speech at weddings anyway?

Our friendship has spanned almost four decades now and grows more precious every year. Little has changed apart from the fact we both gave up smoking and bought electric stoves.

It was probably for the best.

Even the best of friendships can only stand so much.