The Best Kind of Person

I have a friend: Jodi.

She genuinely doesn't care that her body is not a size 6.

She isn't fat.  She isn't Kate Moss.
Her body is beautiful.  She.  Is beautiful.

She understands that on a deep, unflinching level.

I love her the way a kid loves a rocket ship. 

She didn't RSVP to the Feel Bad about Yourself invitation that we have all received.

She believes in her fabulousness.

When we shop at Nordstrom we draw a crowd.  If I try on jeans that she thinks rock.  She screams and claps like she sees three sevens on a slot machine.  And then everyone runs over to see my ass in Lucky's.

She can't stop gushing over her husband of many years.

She lies at restaurants so they treat us like celebrity.

She would do anything for those kids.

She's late to work and doesn't follow the rules. But they will never fire her.  Top producer every damn time.

If I needed her and she was with the president- she would leave without saying goodbye

Once I didn't talk to her for a year because I was brain dead.  The first thing she said to me after all that time was,  " I read your book.  You're a rock-star."

If she doesn't like my outfit she'll tell me to change.  Immediately.  Because it's burning her eyes.

She never apologizes for the truth.

She's the best kind of person I know.

Herself.

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