Dear Wilberforce,

I used a term in my last blog that I thought would be worth elaborating on: comfortable sweaters. I mean friendships. I really meant to type friendships, but my fingers went to the word sweater, so you know what my mind thinks about this topic already.


You and I recently had a chat, and one of the many things we discussed in our chat was enjoying being comfortable with romantic partners. So we’ve been throwing the word comfortable around a lot, and I want to attempt to describe what it means.

If I were to imagine comfortable as an image, I would imagine it like this: sipping a hot cup of tea, (with half and half of course because I ❤ cream) curled up in a blanket alone, watching Netlfix; being the little spoon with my sweatheart after a long tiring day (or just sprawling all over the bed with said sweetheart); lying flat on my back and stretching like a cat so that for once my back gets a break from all that boob weight; also, taking off the bra; and lastly, soaking for an unseemly amount of time in my eucalyptus leaf-infused bath while singing spontaneous songs way too loudly. Chances are, you relate to at least one of these, although I suspect your cat baby would be included in the list (yes, I love her too). These images give a little bit of reference to the word comfortable.


A comfortable friendship is similar of course in that it is one in which I can completely relax and feel good. Most people require lot of effort and work and stress when I talk to them. I enjoy them, and I am excited to meet new people. But eventually the effort will exhaust me. In a comfortable friendship, it’s almost like I am by myself, but with another version of myself. There is no need to perform. The person I’m with understands me, and the most comfortable thing of all is silence. Or talking. Or laughing. Or walking down the road. Or whatever the Hell we want.

Sometimes we get on each others’ nerves. Sometimes you speak to me in a professor voice, and I turn into an angry kitten (because apparently it’s cute when I’m angry). Sometimes, I’m not my best self. I’m the self that I don’t like, the pitiful and selfish self, and I begin to wonder if our friendship is okay. Sometimes you’re not doing well, and I know it, and I don’t know what to do to help except to say, “You should get that cat.” But because our friendship has endured, I can trust you enough to let you see the bad parts, and I care about you enough to know when we need space or when we need to talk things through. You’re the one I go to for advice, and even though you are not my main source of wisdom, you are one of the most valuable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that you, Wilberforce, define a comfortable friendship. I can count my comfortable friendships on one hand. And while you are not the only comfortable sweater…I mean friendship…You are one of the oldest and best.


Your Dear Little Friend,