Brothels, the Buckingham Palace, and Antarctica have at least one thing in common: they’re open to the public. At a price. That’s how most things work - you pay and it’s handed to you. Pretty straight forward. Cough up a little extra and it might even come on a pretty silver platter. There are systems in place to encourage these transactions, ranging from a promise of confidentiality to fancy ticketing booths with premium deals. And, of course, we can’t forget the good old credit card reader to make it all happen.
But there is one type of space so private that few know the location of, and even fewer have visited personally. Over there, entry is invite only and the key rarely ever passes hands. It is so exclusive to the point where even the most VIP of VIPs would have to ask for permission to the space. Even then, total access is not guaranteed.
As private as it is, it’s also a type of space we’ve all frequented: A friend's house; a casual luxury.
Here, you ask what I want to drink without really having to ask; you know I’d announce that I’m pouring myself a cup if I wanted something. In response I give a wordy grunt that, in our vocabulary, is a very legitimate answer. I want to whine about opening a new bottle of wine I’ve spotted in your fridge and for you (with no obligation of showing me any courtesy or worries of offending me) to scoff and say “no way, we’re finishing what’s already open.” We discuss what to watch for way too long and finally dig in to our takeout, hardly realising how unplanned yet curated this moment is.
Contacts out, glasses on. Teeth brushed, retainers in. Hair wet, PJ’s donned. That’s the look which, to me, more or less signifies some sort of milestone in a friendship. It’s a look shed of outer layers, literally and also in terms of societal expectations and all things proper. No uniforms, name tags, jewellery. In a place where we’re both fair game for banterous remarks I’d walk freely with a rip in my shorts.
To reveal your default layer and to be at your most vulnerable with another human being - is that not embodying all that’s shown and not told in the comfort of a solid friendship? So with that being said, I hope it makes sense when I say I strive for friendships to reach pyjama potential, with all the mannerisms that come with wearing sixth grade T-shirts.
Till I ring your doorbell again,
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