Friendship Advert

We could go for a pint if you want? You’ll have to buy it as I’m unemployed, but don’t worry, I’ll get it next time. Promise. You’ll get us a Guinness each, and I’ll pretend I like it, covering my grimace with a laugh at one of your anecdotes. Cool girls like Guinness. Or maybe I’ll get a red wine to look artsy — like haunted poet vibes — I’ll smudge my eyeliner and practice my foxy gaze to make you fall in love with me.

Please, fall in love with me.

Or I could meet you in the darkened corner of a cozy cafe, surrounded by chattering business people madly tapping away on laptops, tired mums with babies on their laps just trying to catch up with friends and little old men sitting nursing cups of tea. We could get a coffee (a vanilla-matcha-oat milk iced latte), but you order first because if you get an americano, I’ll get one too, as I’m not one of those annoying girls whose order is as long as the Bible.

But there’s nothing wrong with that. Right?

Sometimes I don’t feel like a girl.

Sometimes I really feel like a girl though. I like doing makeup, wearing a dress, heels, and squealing like a piglet while hugging you tight, complimenting your eyes and your hair. I’ll drag you onto a club’s dance floor, our bodies will writhe together and our feet glue themselves to the sticky floor. It’s dirty but sexy, and we’ll share glances doused in secrets. But that’s not all a girl is, pretty things and elongated vowels. I could talk about that for hours: gender, misogyny, the patriarchy, queerness, how unfair the world is. I’ll leave if you think it’s weird.

I quite like the idea of being mysterious. I won’t even have to invite you over, you’ll be enchanted by the aura surrounding me, and it’ll pull you in. Perhaps I’ll be hiding my face behind a pretentious book, only pretending to read it, and when you ask what it’s about, I’ll use words such as “frabjous” or “scintillating” to describe it. You offer to take me on a stroll around the cobbled streets, our breath will mingle in the air, and the tips of your ears will turn the most endearing shade of pink. You’ll offer a cigarette; I’ll take it between my red and perfectly manicured fingers and bring it to my lips. Inhale. Exhale. I hate cigarettes.

You can take me anywhere, be anyone, and I’ll be whoever you want me to be. I just want to be your friend.

TO ANSWER THIS AD: TALK TO THE PERSON WHO LOOKS LIKE THEY DON’T BELONG.