When all the world’s a hopeless jumble, instead of looking over the rainbow or reaching for the nearest bar of chocolate, I turn to my friends and my boys. No, I’m not talking about children (as you know I have none) or ex love interests - once it’s over, it’s over right? No I am talking about an essential element in every woman’s life – her gay best friend or in my world, her three gay best friends, because a diva can never have too much of a good thing!
When I first posted “Down with Love” Andreas was enraged. “I’m not talking to you” he growled. “How could you write about bloody Seb. Who is he anyway? What about me ? I told you all the same things". “Yes, cherub but you took that dodgy profile picture of me” I reminded him helpfully. “So!” was his petulant reply as he morphed before me, from adult to sulky child, complete with pushed out pouty lips and tightly folded arms.
Nothing can quite prepare a diva for the rage of a miniature (sorry Andreas), shiny, shaven headed, musclebound, super tight t-shirt wearing Italian stallion. It took me two lattes and a diversionary conversation about the cute preppy guy on the 6th floor and my top (pussybows – in or out this season?) before he calmed down.
I’ve already told you about Seb. You remember my non-Valentine date. He makes me laugh without even trying. Even when he is telling me off for being pants at dating, or for not transforming my curly locks from messy mop, to poker straight chic sheets. Since we met, he has guided me through two break-ups and dragged me kicking and mostly screaming onto the final year of my degree; before abandoning me and disappearing off into the absyss of another seat of learning !
“It’s so hard and there’s no one to bitch with” he wailed down the phone this weekend. “Everyone’s so mean and the women, God they’re just so competitive! No one’s pretty or funny just annoying! What age do women stop being funny and turn into spinister librarians. They’re all just like old dried out fossils, you know with their tits tucked into their sensible shoes!” I was crying with laughter at this melodramatic outburst and my particularly crappy day at work was instantly forgotten.
Work was where I met Rob. We bonded while folding never ending piles of jeans at The Gap (even now my denim drawer is immaculate) Our friends was warm, open and sometimes painfully honest. He made me laught with his acidic putdowns and ability to make a drama out of everything, from ‘rude’ customers to our rubbish British weather.
Apart from leading me to the dark side – overnight I went from bookworm to club diva, He taught me how to love myself. I know it sounds totally corny beyond belief, but he helped me to learn how to be comfortable with myself and how make the very best of myself. The first time he made me over I cried. Somehow he had managed to see me, the me I wanted to be.
I couldn’t believe that he could see beyond my beer glass specs, dress sense that a scarecrow would be ashamed of and the belief engrained within myself, that no one would ever find me attractive. He recreated my face, helped me with my wardrobe and made me ditch the glasses and gave me more confidence than I ever thought possible.
If you want a man in your life who will tell you the brutal truth, when you ask does my bum look big in this? Someone brave enough to declare that blue mascara shouldn’t be the make-up of choice for everyone. Who offers you unconditional support (for a limited time only though, because break-ups are last week!) ; ranging from retail therapy to screeching I Will Survive at the end of a very drunken night in a karaoke bar.
Lastly, but definitely most importantly, a man who offers you an insight into the continuing puzzle of other men's minds! Then and only then, are you lucky enough to be party to the wisdom and treasured friendship of a gay best friend.
