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My Best Friend and I Fantasize About Running Away Together

Photograph by Unsplash

I should start by saying that I’ve been blessed with a bestie. I know not everybody has a best friend and I fully realize that I won the jackpot with her.

If you’re thinking, “Well, I have a lot of wonderful friends,” don’t be fooled. It’s not the same. And those of you spewing the “My husband is my best friend” nonsense, you’re cheating yourself. A best friend is something rare and wonderful and very different than a spouse.

We love our husbands. Let me just get that out there. Both my bestie and I have been blessed with good, caring husbands. They wrestle with the kids, set the mouse traps, keep the tires rotated on the minivan and help reach the bins on the high shelves. In lots of ways, they are so amazing.

But it’s on the days that they are not so amazing that we start to fantasize. We daydream and even half-heartedly plan our alternate life.

We fantasize about running away together.

In our minds, our life together as a cohabiting, platonic, life-partner couple would be so ideal.

We would create a home for ourselves (and the six kids between us) that was perfectly boho and beautiful.

We would take turns homeschooling and doing the cooking, while each of us would be able to cultivate our talent of photography or refinishing furniture and turn it into a profitable little business to keep our family of eight afloat.

We wouldn’t have to convince our spouse that redecorating the girls’ room was vital because we would obviously completely understand the necessity of changing motif every few years.

We would regularly change our minds about what throw pillows look best in the living room, and no one would throw a fit.

We would have a little farm with chickens, and send the kids out each morning to collect the eggs. We would eat mostly just the veggies from our garden out back.

It sounds like an ideal life, a lot of the time.

We would get goats, even though it has been said that they are not profitable — just because they are cute.

We would make goat cheese and sell it at the local farmers market.

We would make the best meals (that include frequent Thai and Indian dishes), with no one complaining that “ethnic food is not my favorite.”

No one would ever say that “soup is not a meal.”

We would take turns letting the other sleep in while we got up with the children to make crepes.

We would turn a blind eye to all Target purchases (but usually be shopping together, so it wouldn’t matter).

We would support one another’s efforts to stay healthy, making it possible for each of us to do our workout of choice frequently.

We would never have to suffer through a jog with the double stroller or downward dog with the baby crawling under our arched bodies.

We would put the kids to bed early on Tuesday nights and sip wine while watching "This Is Us" without having to listen to commentary about how “there are too many monologues in every episode” or how “no one cares about Jack anymore.”

We would allow one another to poop in solitude.

We would never give the other a hard time about money spent on hair, massages, pedicures or any other form of self-preservation.

We would get each other cards and little special treats — and we would always fill the ice cube trays — because we totally care that each other’s love languages are receiving gifts and acts of service.

It sounds like an ideal life, a lot of the time.

As I sit and fantasize about what could be, I’m brought back to my crazy, messy, chaotic life with my imperfect but still pretty wonderful husband. He’s missing from this fantasy, but in truth, I’d never want to live without him.

Well … maybe just for a couple weeks.

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