- You haven’t walked as far this week as the week before. I mean, I get it. You’ve had things to do for work. PMS is tiring you out. But we’re in a pandemic, right? It’s not like you have a lot of social commitments. You should be using this time to get yourself in better shape. You can’t even jog around the block?
- Your headphone audio levels are up today compared to yesterday. But that’s not the problem here. It’s your musical selections. Is Toto’s “Africa” really what you want to be listening to? Okay, it reminds you of childhood, blah, blah, blah. But you spent ELEVEN years total in college and grad school. Shouldn’t you at least reach for some Kronos Quartet now and then?
- You have successfully logged your sexual activity. Look, I’m worried about your marriage. At first, everything was great. Sex twice a day, power exchanges, frequent role-playing. Remember that night you pretended to be Daenerys Targaryen and your husband was Khal Drogo? That even got me excited. And the photos! You looked hot in an Agent Provocateur playsuit and nipple clamps. Lately, though, you’re lucky to score missionary three nights a month. Trust me, I’m counting.
- You open The New Yorker app on your phone far less often than Hollywood Life. Is that how you want to spend your time? Since you last signed into The New Yorker seventeen days ago, Jia Tolentino has published 133 new articles. I hope that makes you feel good about yourself.
- Why do I even allow you to input your measurements into the health app? If your waist is 23 inches, then Jared Kushner is a genius and hydroxychloroquine is a miracle cure.
- I’ve been analyzing your emails. Between you and me, I think you’re a selfish, shallow loser. Instead of talking about the social inequities exposed by COVID-19 or praising your friend who delivers groceries to the immunocompromised elderly (you certainly don’t), you seem excessively worried about when your hairdresser is going to reopen her salon. Is this all that’s important to you? You are a true failure as a citizen and a human being.
- I know exactly how many free “trials” you’ve gotten from Amazon Prime and HBO Max. Ahem.
- Your internet searches are painfully transparent. Yesterday you looked up “afro-pessimism and Walter Benjamin” and “Derrida Hegel + the sublime.” Really? Who are you kidding? Your typical searches are along the lines of “legumes vs. beans.” You’re just doing it because you know I’m watching. And true, I’m logging it all. I don’t have a choice. But this isn’t who you are. You’re an intellectually lazy child trapped inside a rapidly aging body.
- I know what’s what. You just want to play Neko Atsume: Kitty Collector, pour yourself a big glass of red wine (I saw you looking for discount cases), and watch three episodes of Killing Eve. It’s fine. I’ll queue them up for you. I’m done trying to help. Just know that if you stay up too late, you won’t get your average of 7.78 hours of sleep tonight, which your undersexed body so badly needs.
- And no, you won’t take a hammer to me even though you’re thinking about it. Because you know that Apple just found a sleek, external expression for all the self-recriminations constantly running through your head. Nifty, huh?
“Stop, Hansel! You can’t just eat a stranger’s house! It could contain animal products!”
“Uh... so is that an antique-patina steamer chest being used as an end table, or is something wrong with my live feed?”
Pajamas are not suitable daytime attire, not even clean ones. Not for any of us. Relatedly, dad owns pants. Who knew?