I have this friend, R, that I have known for a few years (she actually briefly dated my boyfriend before I started seeing him.) We have a lot in common and tend to have a lot of fun whenever we get together. With her career and my school and work schedule, that is pretty rare. Last week we had a typical “girls night out” – trip to the porn store and cheap Mexican food (what do you do with your girlfriends? decorate pottery?)

R and I have a pretty similar look. Not so much in the face but we both have shoulder-length auburn hair and curvy figures. The biggest difference between us is that R wears tighter pants than I do – her ass is pretty awesome. The other big difference is that my idea of post-feminism is keeping this blog (please don’t ask me to defend that statement. . .) while hers is a plan to have lots of babies and a garden. Having a thing for R might seem a bit narcissistic when I describe her in this way. However, I prefer to think of it as a comfort issue. R has a familiar form and that makes the idea of being with her incredibly sexy and appealing.

As we left the Mexican restaurant, I considered these thoughts. I thought about how much fun it would be to giggle and touch and make out with R. I was weighing my words and considering making a pass at her when she turned to me and said, “You know, Ellie, I wish you were my sister!” The ridiculousness of the situation hit me too hard to properly measure my response and before I knew it I had laughed and said, “Its funny you said that because I was just thinking about how I wish you would make out with me.”

I’m glad to say that R just laughed off my honesty and replied, “I’m flattered, but you know, it seems a bit incestuous.”

Indeed.