Bromance In the Time of Romance

Today, I sent Jayne this bromantic photo session of a groom and his best man and we agreed that this is obviously something our relationship needs, what with the meatloaf deliveries and the slumber parties. (Don’t worry, faithful Lady Bromancers, whenever that happens, we will definitely post the photos here first).

But this also got me thinking about where our lady bromance fits into the romances in our lives. I mean, obviously, our love is hard to compete with.

I mean, just look at this handsome couple.
I mean, just look at this handsome couple.

 

We know it’s intimidating, especially when our reputation precedes us.

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“I Now Pronounce You Boo and Boo”: Entertaining the Impossible Wedding of Tatiana & Jayne

Anyone in a lady bromance knows this to be true: your best friend also doubles as your platonic significant other. There are date nights involving romantic dinners in dimly-lit restaurants and moonlit strolls (for me and T, we try to make this happen on as many Sunday nights as we can possibly schedule); you know to leave the ice out of her glass of water because she has sensitive teeth, and she knows that at any given moment you are liable to make a vaguely musical sound for no reason whatsoever; wherever you go, you know each other’s usual drink orders and can usually predict with deadly accuracy what the other will order off the menu; very frequently, your mutual friends will tell you that you have the same speech mannerisms and opinions on a wide range of topics, even one as insignificant as Lena Dunham’s perpetual nakedness on Girls.

Eventually, even your actual significant other becomes threatened upon realizing that the date suggestions they reject are the ones your best friend will happily take you up on, and that the restaurant you love that they can’t stand is the one your boo frequently orders take out from and personally delivers to your house for the hell of it. The pure romance in the non-romance becomes so palpable that it gets to a point where people start to joke, “Why don’t you guys just get married?”…and then you both actually begin to entertain the kind of cluster-fuck of a wedding that would be.

Cutest couple.
Cutest couple.

Last night during our Sunday walk and in between heavy rounds of maniacal laughter, T and I did this very thing, We already celebrate a frienniversary, after all; it was only a matter of time before we started jokingly imagining a more permanent union with gleeful curiosity. What follows is an accurate account of how we picture giving our hypothetical “I do’s.”

It will be a schizophrenic mess.

T is very classic: white dress, long veil, round diamond in a solitaire setting. I’m very…not: leather jacket, lace-up boots, not a ring but a tattoo. She wants a good-sized celebration; I want as few people as humanly possible because I’m convinced the more people there are, the more likely it is that someone will fuck with my shit. She is Jewish, and I’m a very very very very lapsed Catholic who just believes we’re all connected and wants people to be kind, empathetic, and to eat a lot of donuts while we’re all here. Needless to say, our two aesthetics are pretty much in a Romeo and Juliet type of situation, except ain’t no one gonna die over this one. I happen to think combining the two would be kind of hilarious, seeing as how what’s more than likely to happen is no one will have a clue where the hell they are and what the hell is happening. I quite like chaos. (Probably why I suspect I’d make quite the warlord…)

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