There Is Something To Be Said

There is something to say about someone who has put up with you since you were 13.

A few weeks ago, i got a random text from a friend who has known and loved me since I was 13 years old. We had geometry together in my freshman year of high school, and for that matter probably shared at least half of our classes after that. Those classes we didn’t share in the same room, we both took, so we at least had the subjects in common. My best friend in high school was his girlfriend in college. We shared more misadventures (midnight beach runs? he was there. Falling into the waterwall fountain? He was there (peeing in the fountain!) when my mom almost died and when I was stuck in tennessee? okay, he wasn’t there: but he was always available via telephone) than I have stories with anyone other than the other two (my best friend and his) who were always with us. A lot of my college career involved taking random trips to college station to visit for a few hours before I had to attend my 8am class.

So what I’m saying is: he knows me pretty well. Even though we haven’t seen each other in almost two years, and even though we don’t talk much, he’s literally been my friend for half of my life and there is any easy brother/sisterhood  there that makes random interactions seem perfectly normal.

Even when there is a marriage proposal involved.

here is a text conversation we had a few weeks ago:

“Hey sheksi. I had a dream last night. I was in my room and you walked through, brushing your teeth, gave a nod of approval and walked out. You looked pretty good, too.”

“That sounds exactly like something I would do.” (sidenote: i brush my teeth 3-5 times a day)

“It does, which made it even funnier. So what are you doing?”

“Studying for comps.”

“You’ve got to be the most educated mexican in the history of time.” (sidenote: yes that was racist. yes we’ve known eachother long enough that we make those kinds of jokes with each other)

“Whatev, goose.”

“Hey you don’t mind doing dishes, right?”

“No. It’s mopping that I hate.”

“Follow up question: will you marry me?”

“well, I HATE Houston.”

“I hate doing dishes more.”

“Not possible.”

“Seriously. Plus I’m so disillusioned with dating I think I should just get married. And I thought, what’s the most important thing? And that’s it. I don’t even care if it’s a 90 year old man.”

“Dude, don’t get a 90-year-old manbride! get a maid! There’s a clear answer to this situation.”

“Yeah. But we’d made prettier babies than I would with him.”

“By default, yes. And I admit, I bring a lot to the genepool table. But i am not disillusioned with dating yet.”

“Oh, alright.”

“I’ll let you know if I am at some point, though, there is something to be said about some one who has put up with you since you were thirteen.

including the fact that on a whim, they can propose, and it’s enbedee (nobigdeal).

love you, davey.


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