That’s the thing about best friends. They’re willing to sacrifice a Friday night of fun, to mope around with you.

Everybody Hurts blared from the stereo. Charlie sat by the window, polishing off the popcorn. I was sitting in bed, willing the tears away and feeling horrible.

“GOD! I wish I could snap out of this!” I moaned. “He’s so not worth it…and I’m wasting my time…but I don’t get it. He ignores me all week, and then suddenly he wants to talk…and then…” Charlie was staring off into space. This wasn’t the first time we’d sat like this dissecting my Dylan issues. In fact, Charlie had been my constant companion through so many nights just like this. Great! On top of everything (broken heart, emotional roller-coaster ride from hell, major public spectacle at the movies), I was turning into a giant bore! Happy days!

“I’m sorry,” I was almost whispering. “I’m gonna stop now. Let’s talk about something else.”
“It’s OK. I was just thinking, if I had boobs I might be able to contribute a bit more…”