English Diva celebrates five and twenty years of life this week. Already in her short existence she has provided comic relief to throngs of fans (me and anyone she’s ever met), and dispensed advice to teens on topics ranging from fashion (don’t wear that gray sweatshirt) to naming their future children (every name, even Horst, sounds adorable when you add –ford at the end). Her accomplishments are impressive, and yet I know she has so much more to give. I just have to remember to expect the unexpected when it comes to English Diva!
She’s a prickly kind of friend, as seems to be the case with most of my dearest Gal Pals. She holds a lot back and brushes it off with a laugh. But I’ve had thirteen years or so to figure things out, and every bit of herself that she’s willing to give, I hoard. I made a little treasure chest of scraps, shavings, and small victories I fought hard to win. To really know a friend is a lifelong journey. It helps if you notice patterns, trace the etchings they make in your heart, and keep the secrets like a map to a sacred place.
I thought maybe her phone was broken, or both arms were in casts, and she’d simultaneously suffered a case of hysterical muteness; as it turns out she’s just busy with teaching America’s youth and falling in love. She totally hearts a guy named Bruceford… Her jubilant voice was enough to wash away any resentment I may or may not have been feeling. That’s the thing about happiness—it’s catching, it creeps up on you, lights up your world and those you touch, and makes you forget you were ever sad.
Currently playing: The Smiths; Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want