That's What Friends Are For

And just as they had in high school, all the girls who wanted Scott's attention, but couldn't get it on their own began to come around trying to get a little inadvertent attention that might come their way via the attention he'd pay to me. They wanted to Friend the Girlfriend. Like maybe someday he'd dump me and there'd be a run-off election they'd have a shot at winning.

Thirty years and no one has realized how stupid a plan this is?

One girl who Scott had known since kindergarten and who had recently divorced was the most aggressive. (If after 40 years it has never once occurred to him to kiss you, it is unlikely that he'll be inspired to do so now...)

But being from a small town where people flock back like homing pigeons when it is time to raise their own families, she knows exactly who I am and exactly where I live. I live on the street she grew up on, where her mother still lives and her brother the wino still freeloads. I know who the brother is - he recognized me first - amazingly through a haze of alcohol. He knew we'd gone to high school together. I didn't think he'd attended much. He knew who my sister was. He harrassed me about my hedges (Hello, you just walked home from a lengthy nap at the bus depot - I am not feeling too guilty about my hedge situation.)

The girl - she "just wants to be buds." She is soooooo happy for her oldest, dearest, most favorite friend, Scott, who she loves to pieces. Gag. (And again, if it hadn't occurred to us before to be best pals...)

She apologized profusely for her awful brother. Said she'd stop by my house some time when visiting her mother (What for? To deliver a bundt cake with a bomb in it?) She'd invite us for dinner - throw a party - have us for drinks!

Honestly. I could not pick this woman out of a lineup.

But she paled in comparison to one or two others, the best being the girl who Scott tells me he didn't even know in high school but who had glommed onto a couple of the cool kids at the reunion. (Where a half dozen randy women offered to let Scott "crash" in their rooms.) She'd clearly invented some memories about what great friends they are.

She felt compelled to write a 10,000 word essay on why we should be FBFs, and that she is not a stalker (usually if you have to explain that...) and that she is going to throw a big party and Scott and I are the first people on her guest list (I am sorry, I am busy that weekend. Every weekend. For the next 4 or 5 years)

Ignore.
Ignore.
Ignore.

And while most guys would probably sit back and enjoy the meowing and clawing and Beatlemania chaos, my Scott was mortified.

For me.

For putting me in a position to feel like I had to protect what is mine from predators. To have to deal with some clearly boundary-less women. For being the source of competition and unwanted attention.

But I was OK. Even if Scott felt it was not so OK. At the end of the day, I get to kiss Scott goodnight, and they don't.

All worth it.