In praise of my BFF

Dear reader,

My best friend Annie and I met over 20 years ago, at the age of 14 or 15. We were introduced by a mutual friend who found it odd that we had a shared admiration for the band Fleetwood Mac, a love of all things hippie and a knack for vintage clothes, despite the fact that we lived about two hours by bus and metro from one another. We eventually lost touch with that friend, but the sisterly bond between Annie and I stayed strong throughout the years.

1. We speak the same language.
Neither of us can remember how or when our mutual nickname, Naya (and its derivatives, the Yiddish-inspired Nayaleh and the French-chic Néyette), was born, but it has stuck to the point of completely obliterating our actual first names. And from that, a whole dictionary of Naya Language followed suit. If anyone were to eavesdrop on a conversation or sneak a peek at our thousands of lengthy e-mails, they’d think we were speaking in tongues.

2. She doesn’t judge me.
Oh Lord, I’ve done some wacky shit in my lifetime. From converting to Judaism to buying a shack in the country to seriously considering having a baby on my own, from ill-suited boyfriends to multiple family dramas to roller-coaster mood swings, she’s been there to say “Right on, girl.” Secretly, she might have thought I was off my bloody rocker, and I wouldn’t blame her. But she never told me so. It’s not that she doesn’t have her own opinions on the way people run, or rather, mess up, their lives; she just usually keeps those for our private gossip-fuelled correspondence. Her silent disapproval seems to target many, many people, but never me.

3. She’s hilarious.
Ever since our first letters on yellow pads and girly stationary, and from the very first chatty mix tape sent in colourful envelopes that were, I’m sure, the stuff of postmen’s nightmares, I’ve been in stitches. I’ve shed countless tears of laughter, suffered hysterics-induced stomach cramps and thrown myself on many a floor. Together, we’re a veritable comedy show; we could have a major comical production here.

4. We’re both musical.
She is better than me in that field, I’ll admit. She’s a hit in karaoke bars with her renditions of Heart tunes and disco classics, and her accompanying theatrics and fearless disposition make her the envy of all wannabes (i.e. me). She is also a walking encyclopaedia of songs and albums and videos and trivia, and she’s attended plenty of cool concerts. She’s, like, best buds with Lindsay Buckingham! (Ok, she only has his guitar pick, but he DID throw it specifically at her from the stage.) At age 17, her and I were just like the Indigo Girls, minus the lesbianism and the record contract. Strumming our guitars and singing in harmony in her suburban basement, the one with the old band posters, multiple shelves of hi-fi equipment and occasional bottle of pink Creme de Menthe. Good times, man. And thankfully, a few of our jam sessions were recorded for posterity. I just hope we’re still able to listen to tapes 20 years from now.

5. She’s an original.
When I’m busy with work and baby, I don’t have a lot of time to e-mail and catch up with her glamorous, young-child-free life, and I feel the void. I need my daily fix! Fortunately, she understands my wacky schedule, so she patiently waits for a quick note from me to let her know that I am, in fact, still alive, and anxiously awaiting her accounts of sunny weekends with work friends, barbecues in the backyard and bargain-filled shopping expeditions. My best friend is a social butterfly, a charmer who livens up any party and regales one and all with humorous anecdotes. Not to mention that her fashion sense is unmatched; you can always count on her to show up at a function and turn heads with her creative, lovely outfits. I’ve tried to emulate her in this department as well, in vain. She can’t be copied; she’s simply one of a kind.