Bless Them All

Although I wanted to marry again, I adjusted easily to my divorced state.  After all, I am by nature a loner.  That doesn't mean I don't need friends.  Of course I do ‑-everyone needs someone to praise and comfort him, someone to share things with, someone to give him a sense of self.  And I've evidently picked my friends well, for they meet these requirements with ease.

They'll go out of their way to build my ego, and with compliments that are unforgettable:

"I like the way you write.  I always go for the far out stuff."

"That dress becomes you.  I've admired it for years."

"You're no phony, kid.  Most divorcees don't admit to being on the lookout for men.  You do."

Not all of them are so direct in their praises, naturally.  Notice the subtleties of indirection in:

"How lucky you are to give a slender appearance.  On me those extra pounds would show."

"I'm sending my kids over ‑-they love it at your house.  We don't let them tear things up at home."

"We selected you for secretary.  We figured the toughest job should go to the hardest worker."

Nor do my friends neglect the closeness that comes from sharing:

"I'm sending you my crystal punch bowl for the party.  Don't let anything happen to it; it cost a fortune."

"Can I borrow your car?  I've wrecked mine again."

And above all I can count on these comrades for comfort and advice:

"You think that's a problem?  Listen, my sister not only has a phlebitic leg like you, she has plantar warts as well.  Be grateful."

"So tell him to go to hell.  All he can do is fire you."

But why go on?  It's people like my friends that make me feel my effort at existence hasn't been wasted.  At least it's been noticed.  And loner or no, I recognize much of myself in these good souls.