An ode to the sorted friend, in 21 parts
Thank you for having your shit together enough for the both of us.
Thank you for making sure I always get home in one piece, no matter how unearthly the hour and how far out of your way my place is.
Thank you for coaching me before all stressful events in my life, ranging from Most Important Job Interview Ever, down to There’s A 5% Chance I’ll Run Into My Ex Tonight And I’m Freaking The Fuck Out.
Thank you for saving me from disastrous emotional decisions. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve quit every job for a stupid reason, and given mom permission to start finding me a boy.
Thank you for keeping sanitary napkins in your bag because somehow, despite being a grown-ass adult, my period still surprises me every month.
Thank your for being in such sorted relationships that they help me believe such a thing exists. When I’m spending my entire Friday night Tinder-swiping, I think about you and your happy relationship, and it makes me believe, fleetingly, maybe, love could be real.
Thank you for having hand sanitiser on you at all times.
Seriously, how the fuck do you do that?
Thank you for becoming an adult at, like, 12 so I could remain an irresponsible child well into my adulthood.
Thank you for calling me as soon as you see my drunk and shameful Snapchat stories and telling me to delete them.
Thank you for telling me the dress looks like shit BEFORE I buy it. I know we fight about our differing fashion tastes sometimes (and I can think of a few outfits you should burn immediately, tbh) but you’ve saved me from pinstriped dungarees and neon orange jeans and blonde highlights and, for that, I will be ever-grateful.
Thank you for teaching me how taxes work.
And thank you for never telling anyone that I didn’t know how taxes work.
Thank you for being my Google, Shazam, WebMD, Zomato, Just Dial, Maps, and BuzzFeed.
Thank you for remembering to buy two each of everything you think I’ll need but know I’ll forget to buy myself. I owe you like, ₹2000 in Colossal Kajals and deodorant.
Thank you for being the only person in our friend group who is enterprising enough to turn WhatsApp group plans into actual fuckin' plans.
Thank you for remembering exactly what I order from each establishment in the city.
And thank you for ordering food for me when I’m hungry but don’t feel like talking to someone on the phone.
Thank you for always agreeing to take the phone and give directions to the Ola guys, the delivery guys, and literally anyone ever coming to any place we're at. Including my own home.
Thank you for confiscating my phone when I’m schwastyfaced so I don’t text “miss u” to all my exes.
Thank you for consoling me the next morning when I manage to drunkenly outsmart you and, despite your best efforts, text “miss u” to my exes.
And thank you for saying "I told you so" only a manageable and justified number of times.
Thank you for liking all my Instagrams, including the ones that you tell me privately you don’t actually like.
Thank you for being so all-round sorted as a person that my parents feel safe knowing I’m with you. This is sweet and all but, more importantly, it means I’ve always used your presence as a way to get their permission to go to sleepovers and clubs and parties. I owe you one, bro.
Thank you for being such a mature, reasonable adult that you won’t make it awkward when I tag you on this post. Seriously. Don’t be weird. Love you. Let’s never mention this again.