Before anyone calls me out on this most egregious lie, let me set the record straight: no, I don’t actually have eight friends. Not eight solid friends, anyway. I probably have four at most, and then something like twelve other people who don’t want me to die.
Still, I know the way the world works. Here are eight people you’re probably hanging out with on the regular, in some sort of friend-like capacity:
The friend who says they’re on their way but you know they aren’t. At best, they are throwing on pants and running to the car. At worst, they just rolled out of bed, have no clue what they’re going to wear, and are just hoping you forget how numbers work as they dash off a quick “Be there in five!” text.
The friend who walks behind everyone when the sidewalk’s not wide enough. You never really know where you stand in the hierarchy of your social circle until the sidewalk narrows. It’s during this critical juncture that loyalties are tested and decisions made. The brave men and women who take one for the team and lag behind are the unsung heroes of friendship, and they do not get the recognition they deserve for being so utterly dispensable.
The friend who always orders first at restaurants. Every friend group needs an extrovert. Without them, it would just be four people sitting in a booth at Applebee’s staring wordlessly at their menus forever while the waitress looks on.
The friend who you’re pretty sure jogs. They don’t talk about it, but you’ve spotted Nike running shoes and unlike you they never seem to be out of breath going up one flight of stairs. They are a mysterious people, not meant to be understood. They subsist primarily on yogurt, spinach, or some unholy combination of the two.
The friend who’s constantly texting their significant other right in front of you. They are dating someone, and that is fine. Wonderful, even. But it sure would be nice if they could take a break from dating this person for twenty minutes so we could have a conversation over some Red Lobster Cheddar Bay Biscuits FOR ONCE, KAREN.
The friend who’s always showing you memes you’ve already seen. Damn Daniel is over, okay? The nation has moved on.
The friend who sings songs at you in the car. Friends who sing songs in the car are mostly delightful, don’t get me wrong, but you’ll notice I added the prepositional game-changer “at you,” because friends who sing songs directly at you are a NIGHTMARE. It would be fine if you knew the words, but more often than not, you do not know the words. So you are left either 1) staring straight ahead or 2) making bemused facial expressions and hoping that will suffice. I’m sure there are people who enjoy this, but I don’t know who they are.
The friend who says their bedroom is a mess, but when you go over there to hang out it’s completely spotless. Full disclosure: I don’t have this friend. I am this friend. My place is always pristine, and I want to fit in, I want to be one of those cool, hip people whose rooms are endearingly cluttered, but I can’t. It’s not who I am and I can’t change.