Back to blog

Wherever you go, there he is, that little man. Whatever you’re wearing, he wears some version of the opposite. If you have on jeans, he goes for shorts. If you’ve got sunglasses, he tapes his eyelids open and wraps the tape all around his head so that his eyelids are held securely in place. If you’ve got your phone out, he calls all his carrier pigeons, all 600 of them, and they fly over you in a swirling column of feathers and they deliver poop and spam and it’s like rainy season but it’s all murky and warm and you can’t see beyond the promises and the torrent of validation codes.

But today, you show up without him and it’s just me and you. Honestly, it’s kind of awkward. I mean, I hate to say it, but your alter was sooo fun. You’re still my best friend, of course. We’re cut from the same Egyptian cotton, same thread count, same body count. Nothing’s changed, my friend. I’ve always got your back– a hundred percent.

But the thing is, I know how you are, you did something, you always do something. Remember that time you did that man-bun thing and he shaved off all his body hair and followed you naked? Then you told him to cover himself, so he put on a mankini and a fake mustache. Classic, am I right?! Listen, you’ve just got to apologize. Just like the man-bun catastrophe, you just don’t have a good sense of what’s appropriate sometimes.

So just say you’re wrong and he’s right. And then let’s meet up for lunch or whatever.

Well, would you just look at the time? I really have to get going. Call me!