My pet democrat

There’s more: I also have this Democrat’s campaign sign on the refrigerator, dangerously close to the Ronald Reagan magnet. And I took a picture of her with my donkeys, for use in her campaign. In short, I aided and abetted a Democrat, who happens to be my best friend.

I feel so guilty. But what can you do when you wake up one morning and find that your closest friend for a quarter of a century has affixed a dot-org to her name?

I should have seen it coming. Diane has always been a Democrat, and, except for a brief, irrational fling with Jimmy Carter before I was old enough to know better, I’ve always been a Republican. But our relationship was built on pinot noir and pina coladas, bad movies, bad children, and bad men. Once, window-shopping in South Carolina, we salivated over $200 pillows, wondering if we would ever be solvent enough to spend that kind of money on such frivolous things. Two decades later, we’re still waiting for the pillow fairies to descend.

I have, at times, wondered if our attachment was too superficial. How else to explain such deep affection between people with wildly different political beliefs? But we kept a respectful distance from Afghanistan, from Sarah Palin. Diane never asked me to vote for her candidates or give money to her causes. And she never expressed interest in seeking office, until she called me just after she paid the $400 filing fee to run for the Georgia State Assembly.

So now I’m trying to love and support her without compromising my cherished ideals. Worse, I’m trying to do this with young children watching, in a household that’s solidly conservative. We voted for Scott Brown, for Pete’s sake, but just donated a week’s worth of groceries to a Marxist.

I see the confusion in the eyes of my children. Whither this descent into socialism? What other irrational flip-flopping might occur? They are already worried that I quote Peter Singer too much and carry too many spiders outside on a spoon. If I start donating to Democrats, can a PETA membership be far behind? Sure, this is just Aunt Diane, but let one Democrat in the house, and before you know it, there’s a hundred more crawling around the place, all with their hands out.

Then there’s my friend’s opponent. We’ve never met, we live several states apart, yet I am plagued by vague pangs of betrayal. I considered sending her $100, too, but I just can’t do that to my best friend. Diane was my matron of honor, my children’s godmother, the person who will fly 1,100 miles in the middle of a campaign so that I won’t be alone on my birthday.

She also says on her website that Republicans are “always harping about ‘fiscal responsibility,’ but over and over again, they show exactly what kind of financial stewards they are.”

You know those dastardly ol’ Republicans, always buying pillows they can’t afford!

We are both only children who adopted each other as sisters; our youngest kids believe that they are real cousins. There is nothing we don’t share, except our politics. On occasion, we’ve ambled near that sparking electric fence but then carefully backed away.

Another friend wasn’t so cautious. At a cabin in the mountains of West Virginia, she engaged with Diane on the subject of Iraq while I was on the phone in another room, unable to referee. Ugliness ensued. A door slammed. Our friend checked out and went home. I suspect she did not donate to Diane’s campaign.

I did, though, because of the hell-or-high-water solidarity that is a byproduct of a friendship of 25 years. Jimmy Carter wasn’t there for me, but Diane was, and she teaches me new things every day. Just this week, for example, she taught me about “soft Republican women” – women who tell pollsters they’re leaning one way, then vote differently on Election Day. She’s hoping they’ll help her win.

Until now, I’ve bemoaned the states between us, but for the first time, I’m glad of the distance. In a few weeks, I won’t have to choose between public policy and my personal life. Call me a hard Republican woman with a soft spot for a best friend.

Jennifer Graham is a writer in the suburbs of Boston. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.