WOMEN FRIENDS ARE ALWAYS THERE TO SUPPORT AND INSPIRE
SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2016
STORY BY Christine Grillo
I was laid low by strep throat, a puddle of fever and fiery glands, kvetching on my couch, when I heard the elves in my kitchen. It sounded like they were unloading the dishwasher. Maybe even 
tidying up the counter. Clearly, it was a febrile fantasy. But maybe not, because she crossed the threshold into my room bearing a pint of peanut butter and jelly ice cream.
She not only brought me sweet cold, she brought a spoon. Who was this beautiful unicorn? She was Eva, my son’s girlfriend, from up north in the wilds of Monkton. Months earlier, I had bemoaned his having a girlfriend. After all, he was only in ninth grade. He was too young, too immature, too irresponsible, and let’s face it, his hygiene was wanting. And yet, when Eva was in my house, my son became a better person, someone more jovial, more helpful, a flosser of his own teeth.
When Eva was around, he hung out and talked with me. He even emptied the dishwasher while I was sick on the couch. Thank you, merciful universe, for the company of women, who seem to inspire men to be their best selves.
Equally important, we inspire each other to be our best selves. We lean on each other, we hold each other up, we communicate about the nonsense that draws us toward those with Y chromosomes. And we do it in whatever communication format exists, beyond tea and wine, we find our tribes through modern outlets – Instagram, group texts, secret Facebook groups, even LinkedIn – we use it and use it well. My date was a stink bomb. You deserve better. Where should I pitch this story? I’ll connect you with my editor. I’m spitting mad. Come sit by me. Wine-emoji. Cakeemoji. Pic of Idris Elba. Pic of Javier Bardem. Remember when, during a presidential debate in 2012, Mitt Romney referred to his binders full of women? Most of us got our noses righteously out of joint about the comment, but before you knew it there were underground Facebook groups with names like Binders Full of Women Writers, Binders Full of Women Speakers, Binders Full of Ghostwriters, and so on. On these sites, which are invitation-only, we offer guidance, we share our successes, we ask for advice about good deals on desk chairs. And we do it knowing we’re in a safe space where no man will horn in, shout angrily or explain in minute detail something we already know. There are also any number of secret Facebook groups for those seeking refuge from ugly things. And by ugly things, I mean politics. I belong to a couple of clandestine groups for supporters of Hillary Clinton for President.
How many times a day do I bite my lip, bide my time and take the high road — and later lean on my girlfriends for support? Is it me? You’re the sane one. Has the world gone mad? The universe is vast. I think my brain just exploded. Contemplate the slowly spinning galaxies. We are screwed. We are stardust. Let’s be honest. I don’t paint my toenails and wear funky earrings because I think men will notice or care. I do that for my girlfriends. And they say, “Is that robin’s egg blue on your toes? Are those Scrabble tiles dangling from your earlobes?” I dress up for them, put on my game face for them, and grin and bear it because of them. Women excel at listening. We excel at being there.
We excel at making each other feel better. When my 13-year-old daughter looked me up and down and said, “Did you get dressed at a yard sale?” my friends applauded my self control. When I texted a photo of my children’s wet towels on the floor directly under the towel bar, they reassured me that the kids will move out one day. When I had a biopsy, they called and texted. I used to think that one of the perks of being married was having someone to drive you to chemo when the time came, but now I know that I want my girlfriends to do that.
Thank you merciful universe, for the company of women. Just as we do with men, we inspire each other to be our best selves. When I think about all the things that women do so well, I get excited about the prospect of having one for president. There’s video footage of Hillary Clinton being badgered by reporters in a café – they were clamoring for her to reveal her running mate and were making pests of themselves. Her response? Not only was it civil and charming, it was helpful: “You guys have got to try the cold chai,” she said. We all know that the real magic in life comes from communication, and this is one of the places where women shine. No wonder everyone wants a girlfriend.
My son, and all of us, really, are far better (and cleaner and cuter) with them than without them. Who knows? Maybe one of those reporters tried the cold chai and went on to have a good day. Imagine if all campaigning could be that playful, if politics in general could be that harmless. If every debate could begin with a chai, and the contenders could text each other cocktail emojis. I imagine a female president doing the womanly things women do: taking care of sick people, protecting children, helping other women through tough times. I’m ready for a lot more of that in the White House. If she could text me a photo of Javier Bardem, too, that would be icing on the emoji cake.*
Christine Grillo writes about health, parenting, people, and human rights for a range of publications. Her fiction has appeared in The Southern Review, Story Quarterly and other journals. A graduate of the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars she is a fellow of the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts.
