As a child, I always had a best friend. In elementary school, it was Naomi –- our best friendship was so exclusive that one of my teachers expressed concern that we were alienating the other children at my parent-teacher conference. Halfway through middle school, I moved to a new state. Despite our truly valiant letter-writing and mixtape-making efforts, the move effectively severed ties, and set a precedent for all my successive best friendships.
Today, I don’t have a best friend. This means a lot of things. For starters, no one’s going to hold my bouquet for me when I get married. There will be no slightly funny, slightly embarrassing, but totally heartfelt speech at the reception. And should the need arise, no one will fly in from Atlanta on a redeye midnight flight to help me kill Earl.