I want a girlfriend.

I really do. I want a best girlfriend. I want a best girlfriend who lives across the street from me, has kids exactly the same age as my kids, stays at home but has a nanny, works part time in some creative artsy field, is funny, smart, up on current events, and loves coffee. I want to fall in love with the perfect woman who will always be there for me, no matter how busy her life gets. I want to talk to her 12 times a day. I want her to text message me when the v-neck sweater I’ve been watching at Gymboree moves to the 40% off rack. I want her to pick up my kids from school when I’m stuck in traffic. I want to run next door to sample her banana cake batter and tell her what’s missing. I want to share with her everything about my life, my husband, my kids, my dreams.

I’ve wanted this my whole life. When I was 5 years old my mother bought me this book called “Susan Sometimes.” It’s about a lonely little girl who spends her days pretending her dolls are real people. She wears these glasses that make everything blue. Blue dolls, blue food, blue trees. One day the perfect girl moves next door. She wears glasses that make everything pink. The two girls exchange glasses and that seals it. They are best friends forever. I think the new girl moves away at the end though. It’s kind of a downer. Once, I searched the internet to find a rare copy for a friend’s daughter. But my friend said it was too depressing to read. Maybe my problem is that my life is based on a heartbreaking book I read as a child.

I have a lot of friends. Good friends. Friends I could call if I was sick or really in trouble. But most of them are as busy as I am and don’t have any time to just be together. I tried to schedule a weekly lunch with one of my good friends but she said it was too hard to commit to a weekly engagement. I set up a regular hiking date with another friend but after a few weeks she tore her miniscis or something and had to stop walking all together. I almost had a best friend two doors down. But she was a rabid republican who listened to Rush Limbaugh (and not just to make fun of him). I liked her though – a lot. But she ended up moving to Minnesota and never returned my calls or e-mails.

Sometimes I think they should have speed dating events for best friends. You sit down for like 3 minutes and see if you connect with the person across from you. If not, no hard feelings, you just move on. If you do though, you exchange numbers and go from there. Or maybe they could have a best friend internet dating service just for moms. I wonder if everyone would lie though, the way they do when they’re searching for a mate. I mean I’d hate to fall in love with a vivacious, open, blue eyed, cyber-mom, only to learn in person that she’s sluggish, guarded and wears colored contact lenses. I’d feel very betrayed. Maybe that’s why I never did the internet dating thing when I was single. Too much room for disappointment.

I think she’s out there. I really do. And I think she’s looking for me too. When I first moved into my neighborhood I was so sure she was here already that I went door to door with boxes of muffins from Ajs introducing myself and trying to find her. I guess she hadn’t moved in yet. Maybe if the old people next door go into a home or something she’ll end up buying that place. They still seem pretty spry though. And the divorced playboy across the street isn’t going anywhere. He just had his garage floor acid washed and put a spa in his backyard.

Don’t misunderstand. I love my husband madly. And I believe he’s the one and only love of my life. But there’s still room for the perfect woman, and no one else can fill that space. Not my man, or my kids. Not my work or my hobbies. Carved out in my heart is her likeness and I long for her the way some women long for a child they’ll never carry.

So I guess I’ll keep searching. I’ll keep passing out muffins and going to block parties and trick-or-treating with my kids on Halloween. Because really, you never know when or where she’ll turn up. I just know that someday, somehow she’s gonna be there. And we’ll look at each other and know, as we exchange colored glasses, that this is it. That this is what destiny fashioned.