Men and women can’t be friends.

This is what I’m told. And for the most part I’m inclined to agree.
But what happens when you are?

I am traveling through Iceland with my friend Benj. And we are just friends.

No, seriously.

Just.
Friends.

To say I’m not attracted to Benj would be a bold-faced lie and an insult to my sensibilities as a woman. And also to Ben’s dashing good looks.

But that’s about it.

We bond over photography and facial piercings.

We differ over religion and a hundred other important things.

And I convinced him to leave the continent for the first time to join me on my adventure to Iceland. But I did not invite him to come any further. Because I knew for sure I’d get sick of him (and he of me).

I love his socially awkward moments and how he thinks F**K is an appropriate adjective for everything — good and bad. You really should expand your vocabulary, Benj.
 
I love that he agreed to join me because we know there’s no chance of him falling for me (no promises about whether he’ll fall in love with Iceland, however).

And I am eternally grateful to have a travel partner because my fractured pelvis gets around better when a dashing young man offers to carry my things and drive the rental car.

And I hate that everyone thinks we’re a couple, because I can’t seem to get any Icelandic men to fall in love with me when Ben is nearby. Damn it, Benj.
 
But I am glad we’re friends.

And I’m glad I could introduce him to international travel. I hope he falls madly in love with airplanes and foreign food and that he will take a beautiful girl with him next time.

So, I guess what I’m saying is…
Men and women really CAN be friends. Imagine that.