|Writing Prompt #749|
They say you make your best friends in your first year of college. What they don’t mention is that shortly after college ends, everyone starts to get married and have children and it gets exponentially harder to see those best friends. And then when you try to plan to hang out with them, sixteen things inevitably get in the way and you end up arguing about whose fault it is that you can’t get together and get angry at one another when the real reason that you’re angry is that for the hundredth time, you aren’t going to be able to hang out with your friends.
If you’re like me, you are familiar with this situation. And if you’re like me, your husband has encouraged you to get out of the house and spend time with some adults for a change.
Thankfully, I have recently gotten a job that gets me out of the house and interacting with people older than 3. Most of them are ten or so years younger than me, but hanging out with anyone born before 1996 is a welcome change from my daily life.
Being strange is how I gauge whether or not I am going to enjoy working with someone, so I start with strange. Whether it’s telling an extended joke about semis passing one another on the highway, pretending to be a superhero while carrying gear, or making a Doctor Who reference (“bow ties are cool”), I pour on the strange. I know that I’m going to enjoy working with someone when I get a response to my ridiculousness. A laugh, a snark back, or a willingness to continue the joke makes me smile and gives me faith in my somewhat atrophied ability to make friends.
I love the friends I made in college, even though it keeps getting tougher to see and spend time with them. But there’s no rule that says that you can only make friends in college. There’s always room for more.
Especially if they’re my kind of strange.