My husband told me he fucked you on a bench in a locker room senior year of high school, so I looked you up on Instagram. I hate you, obviously, because I have to, on principle, but also you have Rae Dunn dish towels hanging from your stove so really, you’re asking for it.
To be fair, I found his whole story suspicious because he was in marching band and you were a cheerleader—let’s be honest, no one was chomping at the bit to get drilled by a second seat tenor in 2002, the pop punk craze was barely seeping into the suburbs, drumline or otherwise. You look more like a quarterback/golden boy kinda girl. The Justin Timberlakes, the Nick Lacheys, maybe if you were feeling spicy, the Jared Letos. Not the dude with emo bangs and skinny legs who smelled like schwag weed and couldn’t stop talking about 311. But hey, the early aughts were a weird time and low-rise jeans made us all do things we’d like to forget.
Looks like you tried being a DJ, tried to sell handbags, tried to sell candles. Oof, tough run. Now you’re wearing a sweater I’ve definitely seen on Amazon, flashing too-white veneers in the kitchen of a two-story in the Houston suburbs I’m pretty sure you can’t afford because your husband sells insurance for stereos which cannot be that lucrative. I guess I should have some sense of superiority because that guy you fucked on a locker room bench twenty-two years ago is mine now and at least he doesn’t sell speaker insurance, but as you might recall the sex isn’t exactly mindblowing. I’ve tried to train him up a little with toys and Cotton Candy flavored lubes, the job gets done but it’s a three-chili-pepper situation at best.
Anyway, this whole Chardonnay-fueled social media spiral would be a lot more satisfying if you’d gained forty pounds or reposted thinly veiled racist Christian propaganda on Facebook, but you have cute Boston Terriers and love White Lotus and bottomless mimosa brunches and even though I took a dig at that Amazon sweater it’s only because I had it in my cart last week. Also, you’re really pretty. Like, annoyingly pretty. Seriously, your hair is glossy as fuck, what do you use? Send me a link, if you don’t mind. Also maybe DM me when you get a chance I really wanna talk about White Lotus with someone who gets it.
xo
