I am convinced.
I always make the good friend: someone who listens or provides some relief from the real troublesome reality. Someone who will make a fool of himself to make you smile or laugh or sigh in exasperation because of my high level of corny-ness.
A really good sound-off board.
Someone who you want to have in your corner when it’s round 10, the scorecards are tied, when you’re bruised and beaten and you need that extra push that you sorely want to get the win.
Someone who will step up to the plate and deliver that game winning home run when there’s 2 outs in the bottom of the 9th, 3 balls and two strikes.
But that’s all there is to me.
I screw things up beyond friendship.
That is my gift and my curse.
Not to worry. This heart is used to all that. It’s gone that way so many times, the feeling isn’t anything new.
Some bridesmaids never got to be the bride.
Maybe I’m the male equivalent.