I Was Engaged in Preschool; Or, it's a Miracle My Best Friend Still Loves Me.

Sometimes you look back on your past with disdain. Sometimes, you look at it with pride. And sometimes, you just have to sit and laugh at yourself.

This is one of those times for me. 

If you're lucky enough to have a best friend who you've been friends with since you were literally a baby (if 3-month-old babies can in fact have friends; for the sake of this story, I'm arguing that they can)  then you will understand the bond that I have with my best friend and eternal confidante, Sahara. Sahara is the only person in the world who could legitimately blackmail me--she knows that much about me; every embarrassing moment, ever stupid thing I've done, and she remembers all of them in great detail--but luckily, she loves me, and so I'm safe. Probably. 

Our parents met in parenting class and so we were thrown together by fate--more likely, we just sat and made baby noises at each other until we learned to talk. There has never been a time in my life when Sahara has not been there. We even attended preschool together. 

It was in preschool that I gave Sahara some of the earliest fodder for ridicule. I have always been a little boy-crazy, and in preschool I was in love with Neil Monson. Well; as much as a preschooler can be in love; which is to say, puppy love? I don't even know, I feel like even "puppy love" is too strong a descriptor. In any case, Neil and I decided to get married later in our lives, and so we were basically engaged, and we'd probably hold hands and smile at each other during recess. All the normal things. We'd pretend like Sahara was our child, and we'd "put her down for a nap" when we went on "a date," read--walked around the playground. 

Sahara. . .hated it. HATED it. After all, I was her best friend, and laying on a piece of playground equipment at three or four years old is the most boring thing imaginable, especially when it's sunny and there are adventures to go on. She did not enjoy being forced to play the role of the child; especially since she is twelve whole days my senior--it seemed unfair. So she usually went off on her own and played on her own, much to my dismay. 

So the last day of preschool rolled around, and I remember picking flowers by the fence and Neil telling me that I should "save those flowers for our wedding." 

I didn't. It wasn't that I didn't like Neil. It was because I was three or four, and when you're that age your memory retention is fuzzy at best. I can't remember much else from preschool, except that one time some girl pushed me down on the pavement and gave me a black tooth. Which was the closest I've ever been to "in a fight." I was extremely resentful of the fact that she'd injured me because it meant I couldn't really use straws and so when I went out to eat with my parents I had to drink my root beer with a spoon. 

The tragedies of childhood. 

I'm glad that preschoolers cannot be held contractually obligated to things that they said, because that would be incredibly awkward. That time by the fence was the last time I ever saw Neil, and I've certainly dated other guys (and obviously even got married once, though that did not last), so I may be wrong, but I think the engagement's been off for at least eighteen years. If it's not, I would just like to issue a formal apology to my former preschool fiance and just put it out there that it's definitely over between us. Nothing personal. So, Neil, can't sue me for breach of promise; and besides, suing people for breach of promise hasn't really been a thing since the Victorian era. 

So I win. No hard feelings, I hope. 

Anyway. The real lesson from all this is that good friends pretend to be your child when you're engaged in preschool. Best friends say "the hell with this, I'm not laying here!" and give you grief about it for the next eighteen years of your life. 

She definitely keeps me humble. I can say with certainty that I would not be half the person that I am without her influence in my life. We've made it through high school, college, and times of personal crisis together, and I think our friendship is the stronger for it. 

The bad thing about being an only child is you don't have siblings. But the good side of it is, your best friends become the siblings that you choose. And even though I was a baby when I met Sahara, I am pretty sure I chose her to be the sister I never got to have--the one who remembers all the stupid things I've done, but also the good things that I've done. When Sahara pays me a compliment, I know it's the most genuine thing anyone could say to me; because she's honest with me. No matter what, she's always got my back, and I know for a fact that she would kick the ass of anyone who hurt me so thoroughly that they'd probably end up somewhere in the future. 

I hope she knows that I would always do the same for her. She is really and truly my best friend, and I think it's safe to say that it'll be a lifelong thing. 

Besides, she has waaaay too much dirt on me. 

See? Practically siblings.