Not How It's Supposed to Go

I ran into my best friend from freshman year today (hereafter referred to as BFFY, not to be confused with BFF, which stands for daltongirl). He's one of the things that made freshman year fantastic. He was charming and ridiculously good looking. What's more, he expected to spend his first year of college in the library and didn't intend to make friends. He didn't expect to meet me. The two of us became almost inseparable and it was one of those great friendships where you know that there's nothing beyond friendship to the relationship.

He went on his mission and I went on my mission, and we got out of touch. We've managed to spend a little time together since our missions and we keep meaning to spend a little more together.

Like I said, I ran into him today. I sat on the bench that he was sitting on outside the Wilk, and we proceeded to catch up a little.

I will interject here to tell you that as far as tact is concerned, BFFY ranks abysmally low. I don't know if it's fair to say that one of his charms is his utter tactlessness, but it certainly is a huge part of who he is. Example: my freshman year, he was explaining to me why he might be interested in my roommate. "It's like this, Cicada. You're pretty. But your roommate is pretty-pretty." More recently, when I ran into him on campus, he said, "Wow. You're looking pretty snazzy. Not pretty. Snazzy." Read it over a couple times and maybe you can figure it out.

So we were sitting there, chatting about future plans. I told him that I'd love to just move to Rome, but it seems that a move to Italy would pretty much put a seal on my single status. He told me that I could simply choose a man to marry who'd let me wear the pants, and he can follow me around the world while I work and he stays at home with the kids. I told him that "choosing a man" implies that there is one or more to choose from.

He asked me how old I am. I knew then what was coming. The first time I entered one of these pacts was when I was about fourteen years old. You know. The My-Best-Friend's-Wedding sort of pact. The one where you say, "If neither of us is married by the time we're 22 [because at fourteen, that's desperately---nay---hideously old], then we'll get married." It's the mutual "let's save each other from the ugly fate of forever-singlehood."

I told BFFY that I'm twenty-four. He's twenty-five.

"Let's say this, okay, Cicada? Let's say that when---"

A guy approached us with a volleyball, asking if we wanted to play.

"I am practically proposing here," said BFFY, looking the guy squarely in the eyes. "A little bit of privacy might be nice." He turned to me again, gazing into my hazel eyes. "Let's just say that when you're twenty-eight and I'm twenty-nine, if neither of us are married..."

here it comes here it comes here it comes

"...let's both move to Rome and we'll get an apartment and live a completely asexual existence."

That was not actually what I was expecting. I stood up and started packing my books into my bag.

"An asexual existence?!" I said, shoving my coat into my bag. "An asexual existence?? I don't know about you but for my part, I would actually like sex to one day be a part of my life!"

"Okay! Okay!" He grabbed at me to make me sit back down. "We will live a life of immorality! It's okay! We'll go ahead and live immorally." This he said, as if marriage weren't even something that would normally be talked about in a case like this.

By this time, my raging face was completely red. "As long as we're being facetious and committing to something we know we're never going to do anyway, why don't we just actually say that we'll get married?! Is it so bad to say? Married? We can get married? As long as we know we're never going to do it, as long as we know that this is all some freaking fantasy world, can't we say that we'd just get married??"

He conceded, obviously, because I have always worn the pants in our relationship.