I tried to Iyanla Vanzant my friend once. It was cute.
As if I don’t already have problems of my own with the male species, I constantly sent texts to my friend tryna dictate her love life. Specifically, I tried cautioning her on how fast she was moving with her new man. Part of me was probably salty because I’m here by myself while she’s got someone to spoon with – very well might be the case. Nevertheless, I’d try to drop #IyanlaFixMyLife bombs on her for the most ridiculous things:
When she’d constantly brag about bae spoiling her with groceries and cooking dinner: “Beloved, the child who’s parent keeps her in a stroller past age 6 will find the child on ‘My 600-lb Life’ at 21.”
When she keeps telling me how bae gave her a promise ring, saying that they’re going to get married one day: “Beloved, the woman who today permits her man to hold her tight in his arms gives him permission tomorrow to hold her neck tightly in his hands.”
I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been overstepping boundaries every once in a while. The sign of a mature woman is one who eventually finds the seat with her name on it, sits down and SHUTS THE F$@K UP. The sign of the DUFF (i.e. Designated Unhinged, Ferociously-Ardent Friend) however, is the one who finds the assigned seat, picks it up and rams it against your head, claiming it’s because she was assigned to save you from the gnat gnawing at your ear.
The person often at risk of falling into the DUFF category is the single female, early to mid-30s who feels the need to harp on the insignificant things in your (the normal friend’s) love life. That’s to distract her from her desperate yearning for a man to at least rub up against her before all that’s left in her monthly flow are red dust bunnies. The DUFF is also the person that you watch playing the Game of Life board game and worry she might need 10 bottles of wine and some Tegretol to make it through.
If you have a DUFF, as annoyingly pathetic as she can be sometimes, I implore you take responsibility for pointing this out to her – and if you are the DUFF, it is in your best interest to accept this and do all you can to seek professional help. The prognosis for DUFF-ism is grim, with sufferers not only ending up miserable, but always being too short to reach, too scrawny to lift, and too mechanically inept to function. Without a man to help, and unless you have Life Alert, your body will literally rot alone in your apartment.
Basically, the Iyanla Vanzant-ing needs to go both ways. Yes DUFFs, you can be a “supportive” friend and diplomatically share with your beau’ed up friends any sane tips you have that’s in their best interests. And to the friends lucky enough to have someone call them “My Boo”, don’t be insensitive to your romantically-delayed friends. Try not to share every cuddle selfie you’ve taken with bae across the globe with the DUFF, who clearly looks like she’ll have a conniption after pic #55 on your timeline. Instead, help her dig deep into her soul to find out what male figure in childhood crushed any chances she had at a successful relationship, and the two of you work it out together.
Then when your DUFF finally hooks up with a guy, you can both let out a sigh of relief. With her life full of bliss, you’ll no longer have to worry if she’s on her pills during your girls’ night slumber parties.