Jack of Harts

Is it impossible for people to understand that guys and girls can be “just friends?” And by the way, I hate that phrase. “Just friends.” Like it is… SETTLING for something less if you don’t frak a girl. And speaking of phrases I hate, no, Rosalie and Rosalind were never “friends with benefits.” We were BEST FRIENDS for as long as I remember. And since we’re from Northern Minnesota, that definition gets pretty Puritanical. I swear, making eyes at a girl might as well be foreplay. Getting caught at second base is a prelude to a shotgun wedding. And dancing? With music? Without a chaperone? Positively living in sin! What do you expect of a culture more famous for bonking a future bride over the head while “off a Viking” and taking her home rather than… oh… courting them? I never did either with Rosalie and Rosalind. Not then. Not later. Not now. I hope that is frank enough for everybody to understand. Even those of you in the back.

Rosalie and Rosalind were pretty much the perfect girl friends a growing young boy like me could have. They were blonde-haired, blue-eyed, drop dead gorgeous bombshells, not that I noticed the last part until I was older. I could flirt with them all day long, and they gave back as good as they got. And that’s the whole story, there. No drama. No crazy. No tales of loves lost and found or heartbreaks or anything like that. They were just some of the best and most dependable friends in my life. I loved them like sisters. I know there are rumors that I loved them more than that, but they were not interested in me in that way. It was basically the ultimate friends and family zone. They were the best wingmen a young man could ask for. They were girls doncha know, they knew all the best girls in town, and they knew which ones would maybe like to hang around with a rascal like me. I loved them so much for that, let me tell you.