I wish I had poor friends. Friends that didn’t mind just hanging out at home. Where you brought normal homemade goodies, not fancy gourmet, gluten-free organic snacks, but cookies made from honest-to-goodness butter, white flower, and cane sugar. That lived close by so that walking to their place was an option, even on rainy days, in order to conserve gas. Ones that didn’t have to be fully made up every day so that my no-makeup face didn’t seem frumpy. I wish invites to brunch were at their homes and not expensive cafes. I wish I had more single income friends from husbands that don’t make six figures. Friends that lived in humble ramblers, not homes worth at least half a mil. Friends who didn’t weekend at wineries. Friends who didn’t ask me to host their MLM parties for stuff I can’t afford. Friends without gym memberships and exercise classes to attend. Friends who I felt comfortable calling for diapers because they knew I’d do the same for them. Friends who shopped at Walmart and not Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods. Friends who were trying to make it on their own with minimal family support. Friends that struggled. Friends who were honest that they were struggling. Friends that missed events because they were stuck home with kids, or no money, or no gas. Not because they had another, better event to attend. Friends who were renting and not remodeling. Friends who weren’t on special diets that only the upper middle class can afford. Friends who owned indoor cats and not gigantic dogs. Friends who had more than 2 1/2 children. Friends that stayed home because they know their kids need them more than she needs trendy clothes or a housekeeper. Friends that didn’t own robot vacuums. Friends who didn’t look at me in horror when I describe aspects of my life. Friends I can be honest with about not having money to buy dandruff shampoo. I just need a fucking friend.
