Dear Best Friend,

It’s been a while since we’ve really hung out, especially since you acquired the new growth that seems to accompany you everywhere… just dangling from your right arm.  Don’t get me wrong, that large self dependent lump of fleshy mass with dual wielding ‘x’ chromosomes is actually a good look for you.  I daresay it’s an improvement on the old you.  It completes you in a way that even your mistress Jezebel could not. I hadn’t realized how much it had affected you, however, until yesterday when we met up for some delicious, meaty man time.

As we conversed over our messy mounds of dead animal squished between two mounds of bread, we contemplated the issues of commitment, politics and saving the world… you know, the usual.  Nothing really seemed to be amiss until you offered to share your doughnut with me. Now, I know that sharing is caring… but ‘halfsies’ on dessert?  Really?  That’s kind of pushing the boundaries of friendship a little too close to the edge.

As we left our meeting point of choice and headed out toward your car I was confused as you rushed past me and approached the passenger door.  At first, I thought you were going to let me drive the convertible, because you were being a good friend and wanted me to enjoy the potentially last opportunity to drive it with the top down before you either sell it, or winter hits.  Alas, I was mistaken.

You opened the door for me.  Let that sink in for a minute.  You. Opened. My. Door.  You blatantly crossed the line of mutual man-respect and opened my door like I was your girlfriend…

Don’t get me wrong, I’m touched… but I’m also incredibly weirded out and slightly impressed.  You’ve become so acustomed to opening your door for her that it is just a force of habit that obviously cannot be given up for even the most manly of occasions.

You’re a good man Mr. Kartchner, but it is going to take a real feat to earn back the manhood you just gave up.  I hope it was worth it.

-Bags