'Til Death Do Us, In Four Parts

Part One: The Ladies

I've said it time and time again, but it never ceases to be true: my best friends are my remarkable, extended, and amazing family members.

We very nearly operate as one unit. Have you ever seen these? It's like that with us. We're a fragile, well-balanced system - and it's not to say that sometimes things are a little wonky, but it's like that with all self-sustaining systems; the possibility for conflict exists, but it's all about how the system recovers. And we recover. Every time. Sometimes, I think we're stronger afterward.

When we're all in the same room, when we're all talking and laughing and being our individual spazzy selves - my heart nearly explodes with all the love. I feel so grateful. So happy. So content. We "get" one another, and for someone who has spent a great deal of time trying to "get" herself, this feat does not go unnoticed.

Part Two: The Gents

The night before last, I received a phone call from one of the besties, Ms. Meghan Ryan, and she informed me that her long-time beau Marc had proposed; she was engaged.

Engaged! With a diamond! (Obvi.)

Three of my besties have had some lovely luck finding the boys that want to be with forever. They found a version of best friend that they want to date and marry and that, my friends, is what everyone's out for, right?

And, now, one of them is engaged to that very boy. The best friend.

Part Three: The Aging Process

A couple of weeks ago I found two gray hairs while in a vibrantly-lit restaurant ladies room. I then returned to the table, ordered a dirty martini, and forcibly brandished my ID at the waitress - who wasn't going to ask.

"You want this, right?" I said accusingly, "Because I just found two gray hairs, and you need to see this. Right?"

"Uh. Sure..." she obliged.

Now, my birthday is in a mere five days, I'll soon be 27. Late twenties. Almost thirty. I guess it's an acceptable time to find some grays.

And, now, to add to the feeling of aging, suddenly I'm moving into a new apartment all by myself, and my best friend's getting married (cue Princess Bride, "mawwaige..."). So, sometime next year I'll be a gray-haired, likely single, livin' on my own, 28 year old bridesmaid.

Part Four: Conclusion

You know what? There isn't another group of people on this earth that I'd rather get old with. There is not a person I'd rather see get married, be happy, and live life to the fullest than any one of my best friends, who are the loves of my life.

So, bring it on, life, age, gray hairs, whatever. Bring your worst. This self-sustaining ecosystem isn't going anywhere anytime soon.