Erma Bombeck (1927 – 1996) was one of
She was very funny. She was very insightful. She was very smart.
She wrote great columns.
This is one of her best . . .
FRIENDS UNDERSTAND
THE FUTILITY OF WORDS
Erma Bombeck
For over 40 years, I have had the best friend you could ever have.
When I told my best friend I was fat, she never said, “I just lost three pounds without even trying.”
When we went to a sock hop together in college and she was offered a ride home, she never ditched me.
When I gave myself a home permanent and left it on too long, she was the only one to sit with me in the bathroom until it grew out.
When I told my best friend my husband gave me two snow tires for our anniversary, she never said, “You should be happy he remembered.”
When I was pregnant and my stomach looked like a tray on a car door in a drive-in, she never said, “There’s a glow about pregnant women.”
When I had a miscarriage and everyone else in the world said, “There will be others babies,” she cried with me over the one I lost.
When she told me she was staying home for the summer, I wouldn’t have dreamed of sending her a card from
When her mixer broke down, I never asked her if she had sent in the warranty card so she’d be covered.
When I moved 3,000 miles away, she never once told me what I was doing to her.
When her mother died, I never said, “She had a rich, full life and she was in her 70s.”
When I argued with my husband and begged her for advice, she kept her mouth shut. She just listened.
When we couldn’t get a sitter and had to bring the kids along to her house for dinner, she never fell apart.
When I had my first autographing party and no one showed up, she never once suggested, “They probably didn’t see the ad.”
When her political candidate lost and mine won, I never said, “Ha ha, I told you so.”
Every time we got together, neither of us had to say, “I’m glad to see you.”
When she was up to her armpits in snow, I never called to say, “The sun is shining here.”
Recently, my best friend lost her child. He was her youngest and was in his 20s.
I listened to her.
I cried with her.
I felt pain that I had never known that I could feel before.
But not once did I say to her, “I know how you feel.”
