Day 1:

The guy next to me at the bar is boo-hooing into his rum & Coke. His best friend slept with his mistress (like he gets to be married and have a mistress, too), and they fought, him and his best friend, wrestling on the floor of their office (their business partners, too) crying and bitching like little boys until he punches his friend in the face and jumps off him.

“We’re done,” he shouts at his friend. “Through, over, end of story.”

Which is good by me, because I’m tired of his story (what is this, a screen test for a Hallmark drama?), and I want to be left alone with

My Cosmo. My Cosmo.

But it gets me thinking: Should friends ever end like this? Shouldn’t there be a secret code, some forgiveness phrase (like “my pleasure” or “What do you think of the Bills”) and suddenly everything is back to normal, we’re friends again, all hard feelings put aside?

Shouldn’t we all have that kind of escape clause in our lives?

“The Forever Club,” I thought. A safe space where no matter what you do, not matter how crazy you get, your friends always forgive you. Forever Friends. In a Forever Club.

That guy gave me the idea, so I bought him another drink.

And then another.

And again.

“Thank you,” he mumbled before he passed out.