The problem with labels

So I mentioned a couple of days ago* that I have a problem with labeling people.

Are you my friend? My good friend? My potential friend? My acquaintance? My peer? My what?

If you're my good friend (that's the highest level), then most if not all of these apply:

You've been to my house.
You've had meals with me.
You have and use my cell phone number.
You know unflattering things about me.
You my husband's name.
You know how many children I have and their names.
You wouldn't mind if I called you when I ran out of gas.
You've seen me cry.
We repeatedly make plans to do things together.

Those are my good friends. It's a really short list. But I am thankful for each of them.

One of the reasons why I take this seriously is because I am flattered when someone calls me a good friend. It means I somehow kept my social awkwardness from getting in the way. It means I've added to conversations and probably made someone laugh. This person knows me, likes me and is happy when I'm around. That's pretty great.

I don't want to lessen any of that by throwing the word "friend" around haphazardly.

Now after all of this careful deliberation, I guess the word friend could apply to someone whom I like that's only been around long enough to clear a couple of the above-listed hurdles. That seems fair.

But what if I refer to someone as a friend who has a completely different measuring system and doesn't consider me a friend?

I'd probably die.

No, of course I wouldn't.

I would just write another long blog post to try to figure out where my so clearly defined planned went so wrong.

So I'm sure you're looking forward to that already.

*There's breaking news on the what-to-call-Amy-Delamaide situation. Yay!