We’re supposed to be going on a romantic, holiday-spirited, double date to Disneyland today, and already we’re arguing because me having to crank out a blog post is delaying our leaving. I feel like this is a less-than-stellar start to the day that I planned.
A few weeks ago, when we were at Disneyland with Doug’s relatives, I kept wanting to stop and take pictures, to capture every moments of what I’ve preemptively declared to be the best Christmas ever. But because our party was a little more focused on the rides, which they don’t get to go on all the time like we do, Doug promised we could come back before Christmas, to take all the pictures we want, and look at all the lights for as long as we want, and wait in line for the Peter Pan ride (which is what I want, every single time we go, but rarely get, because it’s the longest line in the park).
“We can invite Yumi and Kyle,” I said, getting into his idea. “It’ll be like a nice double date!”
Yumi and Kyle are our friends from Seattle who recently moved to LA, and, upon their arrival, were forced, by us, to get Disneyland passes. So it goes without saying that whenever we go, we invite them. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
They are, in many ways, our exact equal as a couple: Doug and I met at work; Yumi and Kyle met at work. I’m a few years older than Doug; Yumi’s a few years older than Kyle. Doug and I moved to Seattle to try to strike out on our own as a couple; Yumi moved to LA to try to strike out on her own as an actress, and Kyle dutifully followed her a few months later. Yumi and I have long, text-messaged conversations about the pros and cons of marriage and babies, and whether we actually want those things for ourselves. (I do, just not yet; Yumi’s not so sure she ever will.) Doug and Kyle conspire on romantic surprises, while Yumi and I stand off to the side, rolling our eyes and pretending, for the sake of our public, that we don’t need that mushy crap.
I really, really like these people.
Usually, I’m wary of having friends who are couples. After my ex-husband and I split, and I learned the hard way that the lines in the sand aren’t always as clearly drawn as we’d like them to be, it’s hard for me to get attached to the new “other” in any of my friends’ lives. But Yumi and Kyle have only ever known me and Doug as a couple, and befriended us both; and because they met at the store we were all working in, we were friends with each of them individually, before there was a couple to befriend. Somehow, I think, were either half of our little Disneyland band to split up, all friendships would be equally, if occasionally awkwardly, maintained.
Which is why it’s also okay that Doug and I have been arguing this morning. Because if we’re still at odds by the time we get to the park, I know I can bitch to Yumi briefly, and she will be no less likely to call herself Doug’s “Asian girlfriend” later in the day; and Doug can bitch to Kyle about me, without it affecting Kyle’s kissing me on the cheek and saying, “hi, beautiful,” the next time we all meet up.
I try, as a general rule, not to speak in hyperbole (see “best Christmas ever,” above), but this may just be the healthiest friendship of my adult life. I’ll report back on our romantic double-date tomorrow.