Hey, Ms. Thang.
Um… is that a thang — a thing — I can call you? I’m sorry if we’re getting off to an awkward start, I just don’t know how to say this because you intimidate me. And I mean, the thing is, you’re not intimidating by conventional standards at all, you’re actually quite charming and unaffected and probably the most easygoing person I know, which ironically makes you threatening and unapproachable as all get-out. Am I making sense? I know I’m not making sense, but you probably get it anyway because you’re the type of person who ‘gets things.’ Um.
So, I’d like to ask you for a few favors, feel free to jump in and cut me off at any time. One — can you stop shopping at the same stores as me? It’s just that you always manage to find like, the best items in the store, and I’m all, “WHERE’D YOU GET THAT” and you’re like, “H&M…” but I mean, which H&M do you shop at? Is there a VIP password-protected H&M for could-be supermodels that I don’t know about? Because I was just there, and that jacket was not in the Painfully Normal People section. That jacket looks like you took the elevator to the top floor, to the Heaven department, where you have to be a card-carrying Angel of God to shop. Be real with me, sister.
While we’re on the subject of clothes, can you please explain how you pull off wearing high-waisted pants and Canadian tuxedoes, ’cause I’m not getting it. You’re walking around channeling my grandmother during her twilight years and let me tell you something — IT’S WORKING. You are chic as hell. You are flawless. Meanwhile, I’d look like a French-fry with a tumor in the same outfit. What gives? How do you wear red lipstick in the middle of the day? How do you bleach your hair every month without it falling out in clumps? Did you pay off the I-Look-Fucking-Awesome-Everyday-fairy? Are you a member of the illuminati?
I just dig your style, is what I’m saying. Aesthetically, yes, but like… I dig you on a deeper level, too. You know how there’s that one person out there, that one girl who, well, you want to despise because of how jealous you are of her — she’s funny and humble and has a boyfriend who actually likes her and returns her phone calls — you know the girl I’m referring to right? You want to hate her, but you can’t, because she’s just an honestly good person who deserves every last envy-inducing thing she has? Well, you’re my person. You’re my person. The only emotion that outweighs my jealousy of you is my overwhelming, stalkery desire to be you (and for that, I am grateful because god knows I hate enough people as it is).
I guess my one last request is just, dial down the awesome a little bit? Or, if you can’t — because I understand that these things come naturally to you — invite me to the special H&M with you sometime? Just once. You must get a Visitor’s Pass for people like me.