I don't do cups.

Have you ever had someone who drew you beautifully flawless pictures in the fifth grade?

...Someone who sat with you on the bus, in the same seat, every day and laughed with you while you did things like change the lyrics to Christmas Carols so that they referred to your 80 year old busdriver named Mary, or make fun of Julia Child for hours, or laugh at the hideous school picture of your Canadian pen pal?

...Someone who wrote you "Check yes or no" notes?

...Someone who was always ready with words of encouragement, even if you didn't always deserve it?

...Someone who counted Ms. Huhn's camel toes with you, ran through lines with you, painted millions of leaves with you, danced with you, sang over you so that you couldn't hear your own hideous voice, and laughed at the same inside jokes with you long after they were unfunny to the rest of the planet?

...Someone who "Ate Great- Even Late" with you, inspired you, included you, taped their face skin into weird positions with you, and doubleteamed telemarketers with you?

...Someone who just couldn't seem to come through for you enough?

...Someone who could pick out a ridiculously dressed human from miles away?

...Someone who always made you feel happy, and immature, and exactly the same way you felt when you first met for real in the fifth grade?


...Because I did. I do, actually. He just lives in Florida now. And as much as that sucks, I know it's all going to be worth it