Semi-circle Of Friends
I got de-friended on Facebook the other day. Well to be fair, I have no idea when the actual “defriending” took place, probably months ago, but I only noticed the other day. My lack of awareness of this relationship derailment was most likely due to the fact that we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in about a decade. Still, it felt like somehow I had failed. Had I inadvertently caused offence? I began to question everything I had posted on social media since 2014 (mostly videos of racoons eating cakes and the results of meticulously masterminded quizzes such as, “Which Muppet character are you?” – Kermit if you were wondering). My inner child really grappled with this estrangement from someone I barely thought of, and in a moment of magical thinking, I decided it must have been simply a glitch in the matrix, a computer error. I can fix this, I thought, and with that I set to restore the order of the universe and I sent the “unfriender” a new friend request. I know what you are thinking, that is what an unstable stalker would do; what can I say? It’s a passion. You will be a lot less surprised than I was – my virtual olive branch has still not been accepted. In the immortal words of Elsa from Frozen – Kellie, “ Let it Go.”
Maybe part of the reason I was so jarred by my electronic dumping was how much harder it has become to actually make new friends once you start barrelling (like a freight train) into middle age. Children are the virtuosos of pal production. In order to become friends, you simply had to be roughly the same age and in the same geographical location at the instant companionship is needed. In order to take it to the next level and become best-friends, all it takes is for one amigo to have a toy or snack that the other party is desirous of sharing. After that, just sit back and let the magic happen.
Even having young children can create a kind of proxy effect; it’s as if some of the young folks’ friendship-fairy-dust rubs off on their parents. Well, in truth, the story is really less Tinkerbell and more Tanqueray. Both mothers make eye contact over the offsprings’ heads, point toward said children and make the international signal for drinking – bent arm, hand-to-mouth. And hark, ye age old mutual need to self-medicate, yet not be judged has forged a new friendship.
In my experience, once your children get older, things tend to revert back to your post-30s friendship-forming-fumblings. There just seem to be so many criteria that need meeting when finding someone with whom you could legitimately become chums, particularly when you are someone as unhinged and socially maladroit as I am. My basic checklist looks something like this.
Must be able to at least put up with, if not genuinely enjoy, the following:
Eating pizza whilst avoiding confrontation.
Owning a calendar that notes all and any international days of celebration, so that when you are caught drinking on a Tuesday, you can simply claim you are observing Venezuelan Aviation Day.
Pondering the big questions, such as how many calories would I get if I ate an entire human body? And, if Carmen Sandiego and Where’s Wally had a baby, would anyone be able to find it?
Watching mindless reality shows while loudly assuring anyone in hearing distance that they are “research”.
Possessing a deep sense of schadenfreude.
Camouflaging the multitude of gaping social blunders made by me daily.
As you can see, it’s a hard road finding the perfect friend. I think that perhaps there are a series of mitigating factors that contribute to the difficulties that making friends as an adult pose. For one thing, you no longer have your parents acting as your social coordinators, arranging playdates and sleepovers. On the up side, I’m no longer forced to spend my afternoons with the girl who picked her nose and ate it because, according to her, the doctor told her to (suspicious, my young self, checked on this with my Grandfather, who although not a man of medicine, grew up on a farm in Scotland and knew about such things. He said that not only was this not a prescription, it was bloody disgusting. I KNEW it). But on the downside, I’ve really missed Cassandra McKenzie’s Barbie horse and her mother’s spaghetti pinwheels (mmmmmmmm spaghetti pinwheels). Also, I think as we age, we become more aware that we don’t really like people; or more in my case, they don’t much like me. Groucho Marx once said, “I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member,” perhaps that applies to me and friendships too.
I’m actually very lucky, I have a small group of wonderful friends who meet all my criteria. They are charitable, patient, au fait with international drinking festivals and stuck with me; mostly because I am super-needy, crazy like a fox, not afraid to stalk and, never to be underestimated, I make a fantastic spaghetti pinwheel. I am totally content with that, in the immortal words of Ray Romano, “Two friends? Who needs two friends?”
