Friendship

How easy would it be for friendships to look like those of my six year old?

We'd call each other and ask each other to play.
We'd laugh about farts and burps and nose-picking.
We'd fight and make up right away because playing is so much more fun than being mad.
We'd make friends with everyone and wouldn't limit our friendships.
We wouldn't determine who our friends were by the types of clothing they wear, the shoes they purchase, the type of house they live in.
We would dress up in silly clothes and pretend we were singers in fashion shows.
Our stuffed animals would be true confidants; they would listen to our deep, dark secrets and give us exactly the advice we need and want.
We'd write and tell stories about our friends who were fairies, and princesses, and superheroes, and actresses.
Sleeping in a tent and sleeping bag in the confines of our own basement would be the treat of the year.
We'd color our driveways with chalk and our bodies with markers.
The best movie theater would be in our living room with the lights out, a bowl of microwave popcorn, and a movie we've seen fifteen times.
We'd use our imaginations and talk about our dreams as if they were reality.
We'd dance. We'd sing. We'd laugh. We'd cry.
Finally, we'd sleep.
And then we'd get up
and do it all over again.