One of the nice things about having a gay best friend is that when you are all teary and emotional because your body has become a haven for hyped up hormones, he won’t try to fix your problem or tell you what you’re doing wrong.  He just commiserates with you, sends you funny emails to cheer you up and then tells you how happy he is that its you, not him with the problem.  That is why I found myself weeping on the phone to my BGF (best gay friend) earlier this week.

“I’m just so sad and tired and exhausted.  I can’t talk about it,” I weeped into the phone.  You would have thought I’d just discovered I have three days to live.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Oooohhhhh, nothing,” I moaned.  “I’m just miserable and if I talk about it I will keep crying.”

“Well, then email me,” he suggested.  “Email me right away and tell me everything.”

That is another nice thing about BGFs.  They want to know ALL THE DETAILS.  And so I emailed my very best BGF all my problems, which in retrospect were extremely small, stupid problems made very large and scary because I had enough hormones raging through my body to push four 12 year old girls through puberty. 

The next morning I woke up to find his response in my email box.  He had re-written the lyrics to “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.”  Instead I was required to sing, “If I’m sad and I know it, clap my hands.” I won’t go through the rest of the lyrics but let it suffice to say it cheered me up immensely.  He also thoughtfully provided a link to an article on WebMD called, “Why You’re Not Happy.”

And so after I sang my Sad Song and finished clapping my hands I clicked on the link to discover why I was not happy.  I had just started reading when a banner on the right caught my eye.  “Most Popular Articles”.  Number three on the list was “Five Things You Didn’t Know About Your Penis.”

Who needs to know about happy when you can read about penises?

It was pretty interesting and fortunately my husband had just come downstairs to get his first cup of coffee and read the newspaper.

“Bob, sit down and listen.  I need to tell you five things you didn’t know about your penis.”

He just looked at me over his reading glasses and took another sip of coffee.  I read the entire, extremely enlightening article to Bob.  He was not impressed.

“I knew four of those already,” he replied.  “And if they’re going to start writing articles like that, they should write one about vaginas.  Except they’d need a lot more space because those things are really complicated.  There’s always something going on down there. “

Which if you think about it, is quite true.  But I don’t care because at least I can’t break my vagina.