Hello, there. How are you? I don't know if you recognize my name at all, but I'm that girl Jen that your fella's always talking about. Yes, that one. Funny isn't it? I'm actually pretty short. I do have a bit of a tummy. If I'm squinting at you, it's because I can't actually see all that well, and my contact lens is rolling up under my eyelid like a cranky window-shade.
You may notice that my socks don't match, and that these pants are in fact out of style. I'm not very fashionable. My hair's kinda frizzy. I know he's described me as cute, but boys don't know, do they? He was just looking at my boobs.
Which he doesn't like as much as your boobs, by the way. No, listen: he doesn't. It's just that he's never actually seen mine, you know, naked. Mine are new boobs, do you understand? And therefore strange and exotic, like Zebras or honest politicians. It's not that he'd like to have sex with me, it's just that he'd like to have sex with me. It makes sense if you think about it long enough, I swear.
This is not to say that I don't think I'm attractive -- don't get me wrong. On days when I don't think I'm disgusting, I think I'm about the cutest thing I've ever seen. (I'm an air sign. I don't have to explain myself.) But I guarantee you that you are cuter than me.
Girlfriends of my guy friends, it's true. You're universally lovely. You're all tall and thin and tanned, like you're waiting for your real outfit, which is a tennis dress, and these business clothes are just to keep you warm in your subzero office, where you work diligently at impressive careers. Girlfriends of my guy friends, your hair is straight and healthy and often blonde, all of which terms describe the rest of your personalities as well. You are fit, and don't smoke. You are sweet, and don't snark. In every conceivable way, you are the Maryann to my Ginger, and let me assure you, guys really want Maryann. (Ginger actually had terrible legs. True story. That's why she wore those long dresses. But I digress.)
I even like you, girlfriend. I truly do. I see why my buddy likes you so much. You've been really good for him, making him go to the doctor and not drink so much and be nicer to people. Thanks for telling him that I don't want to watch him light his farts. He wouldn't listen to me. It was a lonely, stinky world before you arrived. Please don't dump him.
I speak of you positively, even when I think you're being a bitch. I understand what a pain in the ass he is, believe me, and I give you full props for putting up with him. I tell him to buy you flowers, and apologize, and stop being a jackass.
In exchange for all of this, I ask only one thing: Please don't make your boyfriend stop being friends with me. This has got to stop. I am not a man stealer, and if I were, I would have scooped him up before you got here, when he was all drunk and crying and puking all over the place after his last girlfriend dumped him. Oh wait, no I wouldn't, because that's gross. Do you see? I'm not interested. Just stop giving him a rash of shit about hanging out with me, and all will be well, I swear.
Thanks, and best regards,
Jennie Smash, best friend of your boyfriend
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