I met a friend for dinner at a Mexican restaurant the other night. What transpired was a lot of laughter, discussion and chimichangas. Too much chimichanga. Way too much chimichanga. More chimichanga than anyone should ever even have near them, never mind in them.
On the drive home, I said out loud to my empty car, in sincere anger, “I bet Taylor Swift never ate too much chimichanga at a Mexican family style restaurant.”
Whenever I start to beat myself about my self-destructive behaviors, I end up playing a game I like to call “I Bet Taylor Swift Never…” I don’t know when it started, or how or even why. My general feelings toward Swift were the most neutral of neutrals prior to the beginning of this game. Now I envy her with more jealousy than Gretchen Weiners felt for Regina George pre-Kalteen bars. Her golden locks flow like a waterfall made of unicorn dreams and Pegasus burps. Her patented “I am so surprised that I have won this award even though I have always won all of the awards!” face is more joyous than a 4-year-old’s expression on Christmas morning. She has the body of a lithe model, the smile of a dental hygienist and the money of… well, a Taylor Swift.
I just want to be Taylor Swift and I will never be Taylor Swift. Do you know why I will never be Taylor Swift? If you said “because Face/Off starring Nicholas Cage and John Travolta was not a documentary because that science doesn’t exist yet,” then you are right, but you’re also a jerk because, come on, let a girl have her dreams.
I will also never be Taylor Swift because I bet Taylor Swift has never tried to accidentally show a picture to a blind man because she didn’t realize he was blind. I bet Taylor Swift doesn’t have to shave every day to not look like a terrible mammal creature. I bet Taylor Swift has never let her toenails get so long that she’s embarrassed to take off her shoes at someone’s house. I bet Taylor Swift always remembers to clean dirt that mysteriously collects under her nails. I bet Taylor Swift doesn’t even mysteriously collect dirt under her nails, I bet she mysteriously collects gold coins or diamond encrusted puppies. I bet Taylor Swift has never overslept for a class that starts at noon. I bet Taylor Swift has never started the same book 5 times because she can never get past page 32 before setting the book down for 6 months, forgetting the beginning of The Lost City of Z once again.
I bet Taylor Swift never Photoshopped a picture of Taylor Swift eating tacos so she could procrastinate starting her essay on Victorian Prose and Poetry.