Sometimes the only person who really gets us is the almost viable lump of hair and human teeth that has lived in our lower back since birth. Here are six things that will make you and anencephalic stump nod in agreement— things that only you and she can truly understand:
Feeling the gentle quiver of your spleen after a three-plate Indian buffet lunch. She’s the only woman who knows your weakness for malai kofta—and what it’s like inside you (except for your friend Claire, that one time in college).
The simple pleasure of an afternoon nap on fresh cotton sheets. Really, is there nothing more splendid than kicking back with some Janet Evanovich and a cup of Lemon Zinger on some crisp 500-thread-count Egyptian cotton? Provided you lie on your left side, of course—you don’t want to crush her.
What Jill really did and why it was such a big deal. Though, to be fair, Jill knows it, too. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID, JILL.
The desperate disappointment of applying early decision to Swarthmore but ending up having to go to Bowdoin. Yes, they’re both good schools, but she understood your love of the Oxbridge tutorial style and your natural aversion to Maine. What are lobsters but highly organized lumps of calcium and proteins?
The pain of posting your #TBT ultrasounds.
What a stone-cold bitch meiosis can be. Amirite?
The drag of being a natural brunette with the coloring of a redhead. She can’t technically see it, but that monthly bottle of Feria is your little secret. That, and the fact that, when it came right down to it, you flipped for who resorbed whom.
Pure deliciosity of your meconium. This needs no elaboration.
Despite what others have said, you’re not beautiful on the inside either.
