Look, we’re never going to have sex & you’re not allowed to touch me. I’m a happily boyfriended girl, & also you’re married/slightly creepy/bald. So in this spirit of raw honesty we simply must have a national conversation about how I’m barely functional in Los Angeles but you have money & you’re not taking me out to dinner for some reason.
You know I’m a goddamned fucking delight. One time we had pleasant banter on Twitter & another time we ran into each other at Starbucks & you thought my Nerd shirt was cute. You were obviously covering for staring at my tits, so imagine getting to spend an entire hour or more staring at them from across a table while I make nigh orgasmic sounds consuming gourmet gluten free foods.
Look, I know you have a family function/aortic aneurysm repair/yogic free range cruelty free retreat to go to. I will work with your schedule. Just know that I tend to eat only once a day. If I lose too much weight too fast, my boobs will go flat. Neither of us wants that. Think of the children.
You can write every meal off on your taxes as charity. Now you’re helping the less fortunate while staring at tits! Everyone wins in this tax free, bipartisan solution!
You also know I have a habit of being a free goddamned therapist to everyone, so the cost benefits of avoiding seeing Dr. Painfullyslowprogressonyourdadissues are incalculable. If you take me to Nobu, though, it’s kinda a wash.
Think of me as the only woman who isn’t disappointed in you but is also very hungry. Think of me as Mother Teresa but hotter & also I say “fuck” a lot more than she did, by all reports. If you just add me to your family gathering, I can guarantee a 75% reduction in f-bombs & a 100% increase in my Mary Poppinsesque mastery of your young children.
You have my number.
Disclaimer: if you post some kind of humorless comment below, I will diagnose you with Asperger’s syndrome & will also mock you to my roommate. There is no “Think of me like The Onion” font.