I love the bond between women. The way they will sit there while you cry, hold your hair back when you’ve drunk your weight in vodka and always tell you exactly what you need to hear… even if it’s on the other side of the truth.
Women wholeheartedly believe and live by the power of the white lie. Its power rests in its ability to provide comfort rather than truth. Because who would want to hear the truth when they can hear exactly what they want and need to hear?
It’s the bad habit we all share and will never quit. It’s the one vice we say we can’t tolerate, yet will accept with open arms in our times of need. It’s the one thing we do for each other when we really can’t do anything else.
It’s the only way to comfort each other when we truly don’t know what to say or do. It’s the one time you hope that your friend will just be a pal and lie straight to your face.
Many times we know they are lying when they say it. We know the truth and they know it, but we need to hear someone tell the lie to put our worried minds at ease, if only for a few brief moments. Because it’s much harder to lie to yourself than to have someone else do it for you.
Because this is a sisterhood founded on lies... and we like it that way. We’re believers in sparing feelings over spreading truth, and we understand that sometimes a lie is the best thing for the soul.
He’s not worth it
Sometimes he is, though. But if she can’t have him, she may as well not know it. Even if he has the body of Channing Tatum and the eyes of Rob Lowe, she can never know that she watched the best man she’ll probably ever get slip through her unwanted fingertips.
You look fine
You’ve definitely looked better. Actually, you look pretty horrible, but I don’t feel like going all the way back to your room and waiting for you to put on more eyeliner and blush.
No, I’m not mad
I’m f*cking pissed. If you have to ask me if I’m mad at you, chances are I probably am. But because I’m a woman and I hate hurting your feelings, I’m going to shove my disdain deep into my empty womb and tell you it’s all good.
She’s just a bitch
If you hate her, then she's a bitch. She’s probably not and you’re probably overreacting, but I know what you want to hear, so I’ll throw the "B" word out if it’s going to make you feel better. I mean it’s nothing like the "C" word.
He’s going to call
I have no idea if he’s going to call. By now, chances are he’s probably not picking up his phone. But you’re standing dangerously close to the edge and if some false hope is what it’s going to take to bring you down, I’ll spoon feed it to you.
She’s not that hot
She might be beautiful, but I know you better -- and that makes you better. Besides, if she’s the girl who took your man then I know you need to hear how ugly she is. Even if she's got the face of Megan Fox, her soul is one ugly motherf*cker.
It’s not a big deal
It was a big deal, but I’m over it now. Clearly this was something I was upset about, but I’m letting it go because you are apologizing now, but just know… it was a big deal.
It was a good experience
Experience is the pretty stepsister of mistake. Having some guy f*ck you then never call you isn’t an experience, it’s a serious blow to the ego. But let’s wrap it up, tie a bow around it and call it a silver lining.
He’s an assh*le
Most of the time he probably is, but sometimes he’s just a guy who didn’t want to go out with you anymore. But you’re my friend and anyone who doesn’t want to go out with you is an assh*le in my eyes, even if he really is a nice guy.
He’s just busy
...So busy he can’t take 20 seconds and send you a, “Hey, what’s up?” You know what it means when he’s not texting, but she doesn’t need to know. In these situations, ignorance is always bliss.
It’ll take 15 minutes
Or an hour. But once you agree to getting there with me, what’s 30 minutes more? We’re already out, we’re already doing this, so do you really need to know the exact amount of time going into it?
We just hooked up
I didn't define what hooked up means, thus it can really mean anything. Adding the “just” takes away from the idea that we had sex... however, I could really be saying, “We just had sex.”
I don’t like him that much
I’m obsessed with him and think about him all the time, but I don’t want to let on because that means admitting it to myself, which means admitting that he could really hurt me. I like to tell myself, and everyone else, that I’m just playing the field.
Photo Courtesy: We Heart It