I hate forwards. I think I hear "Amen to that, sister" coming at me through the computer lines that cross our fair nation. (That's how email works, right?) Yes, I'm pretty sure that most of you hate forwards too, unless you are my father-in-law, the most notorious forwarder in the Northeast. I can say that because he won't read this; he's too busy reading and then forwarding on whatever emails he has gotten today. He's probably throwing caution to the wind again, completely ignoring his intended forward audience, or, as other people call it, "the world." That being said, my complete abhorrence of forwards is not the subject of this blog. However, if it was, it would be a long, bitter one.
Anyway, the subject of this blog reminds me of one of the ten forwards I have read over the last few years. I'm sure each of you has received it; you know, the one about friendship. We have different friends for different times in our lives, they come in and out, etc, etc. Most of us probably don't need to read the email to understand this concept, we probably just need to look through our address books. Here's how I know this: I have a lot of friends. I am allowed to say that, I think, right? I try as hard as I can not to take this for granted and I am so happy to have found so many kindred spirits. I am so lucky to have one of each of those friends that other forward about female friendship recommends. For instance, I have a Martha Stewart friend. Among many other feats of domesticity, she papier maiche'd her son's pinata. (oooh la la, french and spanish in one sentence-tres bueno!!) Her house is amazing, her parties talked about for weeks afterward and she does it all serenely, somehow. She is awesome and she knows who she is, although she might not finish this email because she has to go buff the fall leaves she just waxed for her new table arrangement. (Clearly, I have no idea what it takes to be a Martha Stewart friend. No offense to any Martha Stewarts out there who might be scoffing at the idea that you buff waxed leaves when it's clear that they just need a coat of organic, homemade polyurethane instead.)
In addition to my Martha Stewart friend, I also have my kvetch on the playground friend, my friend who always gives me good stories to tell, despite the fact that I didn't actually live them, my friend who's following her dream and her heart in a far off place (actually I have a few of those), and many others. Some of them even possess multiple qualities from the "necessary friends" list. I even have a BFF. I have no qualms saying this, despite the fact that I'm not 12 and/or Paris Hilton. She rocks my world and I hope she knows it (my BFF, not Paris Hilton.) So, I'm a lucky girl. No joke.
But, back to the point (which got lost somewhere around paragraph 2). While forwards can tell us generalities about our lives, we should already know them from living it. We should know what friends we need and how lucky we are to have them. We should know that people can do amazing things when they put their heads and hearts together. And, lastly, we should know that Irish yoga is going to involve some sort of drunk person passed out in an odd position. (the subject of many a fine and informative forward.)
So let's all agree to stop sending those forwards and go live them. Plus, then we don't have to worry about all those email lines becoming overloaded and crashing down to earth and smoting us all.
