Shoes Suck

I hate shoes. I need to wear them because they keep feet safe from gravel and hot pavement and goat-heads and being cold but, I’d love it if I had Hobbit feet and could completely never wear them. I’m not a big fan of seeing my feet…or knees…or chicken legs but, I go barefeets and shorts as often as I am able.  The first thing I do when I get home from work is to put on comfortable shorts and take off my damned shoes. Anyway, this isn’t really about shoes. It’s about my best friend that is not my wife…when I get to it…

Neighborhoods go into decline. They start out with homes built by people that want to live their lives there and raise their families. They age. The children grow up and move away. The homes are sold and become rent houses and yards become weedy, painting doesn’t get done, shutters sag and the neighborhood declines. If the neighborhood is lucky, housing prices drop enough to become attractive to people willing to buy…and turn the houses into homes. A few people start mowing and painting. The neighborhood becomes attractive to people that want to live their lives there and that attracts more people that want the same. They become safe again and have a new life back where they started…

Still getting there…

Have you ever had a friend, a REAL friend? Someone that you weren’t allowing to be a “renter” but, that you were willing to invest time in? Someone that you were willing to change your World View for because you were investing yourself into them? I have one. Her name is Aj. Yeah, you’ve seen her name before and know that I love her dearly. I invested myself in her. I changed my entire approach to the way I looked at the world because of her. No matter how often I say that I’m not sure she realizes how important that is to me. I’m not sure that she realizes that I’m not a renter but, she’s a part of “home”.

Yesterday she did something that sort of surprised me at the time but, in retrospect, shouldn’t have. Someone from my distant past that I was close to resurfaced. Aj went into full-blown protective mode. ” Well, she better treat you right. I don’t like sharing my position as bfftinyw” *best friend that is not your wife* I think she was willing to get out her shovel and start driving if she thought that there was a chance that I might be emotionally harmed. Rephrase, I know she was. How many people do I know that would do that? Counting Aj? Two, the other is my wife…

…and that’s why Aj is part of home. She is possessive of me and will not allow harm to come to me if it’s in her power to stop it. Not only do I not mind, I’ll let her have the piece of me she’s claimed for as long as she’s willing to own it. Oddly enough, that goes both ways. I am possessive of her, too. Don’t read jealousy into it from either side. She’s glad that I’m happily married and I will be grateful to the man that she decides to love for being Her Love. Doesn’t change the fact that we both own a part of the other. Neither of us is renting.

Sometimes I startle easily. Sneak up behind me and I’ll jump. Tell me something about yourself that challenges my comfort zone and I’ll freak out…maybe even for years…and eventually, I’ll be sending you to hell and burning you at the stake…and love your friendship as much as I love barefeets and comfortable shorts. I am a blessed person for having someone that has decided to be my best friend for as long as I will have her. I see no need to change that fact. I’ve invested myself into changing me to keep her right where she is, in my heart. If you’re lucky, you’ll find your’s, too. When they decide that they own a part of you, give it to them.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s