Tinderella: ‘Oh, you found my glass slipper.’

How many times can someone tell you that what you’re looking for is right under your nose? If I were to count it would probably be upwards of a hundred times. Whether it was by my mum or my friends they would often utter the cliché phrase. It may have taken six years but I think I’ve finally grasped what they meant. It may have taken six years due to the extreme length of my nose, but that’s a body confidence issue that belongs in another article for another day.

Anyway, let’s carry on with today’s article. It all begins when I met my best friend at school. I need to clarify he wasn’t my best friend from day one. In an ideal world two geeky, unpopular kids would team up and take over the world, however in today’s society it’s every teenager for themself. He had terrible hair. Short on top with a really long fringe, something that earned him the nickname of Hitler. Yes really.

I, on the other hand, was a beautiful goodness, cherished by all and carried everywhere on a pink throne…Who am I kidding? My hair looked as though it had been cut by placing a pudding bowl on my head; and my purple metal framed glasses certainly cemented my own personal nickname, Specky Becky.

Victory dancing, poking and nosebleeds.

For the both of us school was extremely unkind. Nonetheless we quietly got on well. GCSE science and music lessons sparked our friendship, with the shared roll of the eyes as the class idiot would make a fool of himself. Come year 12 and we were best buddies. Our English Literature lessons were a great source of fun from me victory dancing every time I did better than him in an essay, to giggling at the word qyuente or quente (I can’t be sure of the spelling), and poking each other in the ribs to make each other squeal. Music lessons were also a highlight. Let’s just say he couldn’t play piano very well. Sorry! And that time he got a nosebleed during our summer concert? Priceless.

As we got older and our social circle grew he held the best house parties, which would often end up with him getting increasingly drunk, hoisting me over his shoulder and running round his house with me. Perhaps the funniest experience was when another friend placed Viagra in a complete knobhead’s drink. The poor lad became very confused during a game of Twister.

My best friend used to write letters to his sober self when he was in the midst of a drunken state. In one of those letters he wrote ‘consult Becky on your love life, for although she is small she is wise’.

Well now it’s time for me to write a letter to my best friend.

Dear bestie,

Firstly can I just say a big thank you? Thank you for all you’ve done for me these past six years. Thank you for listening to me mumble on about my problems, and thank you for never judging. Thank you for sticking by me during the toughest of times and thank you for your advice. Just, thank you.
Remember those English Literature lessons? That time when James punched Emma in the boob for no reason? Me having to sit on your left because I’m left handed and thus the spawn of Satan? Do you remember my love of Great Expectations and trying (and failing) to read Chaucer?
Remember those music lessons when you’d attempt learn ‘My Immortal’ by Evanescence because you knew I loved the song? Remember turning up drunk to our summer soiree?
Do you remember going off to uni? The excitement, the nervousness, the upset? How about the times we’d meet up for coffee once every couple of months for a catch up that would turn into a bitching session? Or those times when you’d be the other end of a facebook message whenever I was feeling miserable?
Of course you remember. Like I remembered. Every single moment.
Guess what? My mum said that what I’d been looking for was right under my nose.
She wasn’t completely right. What I’d been looking for is roughly a foot taller than me, so really I’m under his nose.
Catch you soon, Becky x