Two days ago, in a moment of social panic and premature familiarity, I mistakenly greeted Audrey with a high-pitched “Hey babe!” It was the single most humiliating moment of my life.
The truth is that I barely even know Audrey. I’ve met her only once, and she was so radiant, freckled and glossy that I immediately searched for and followed her on Insta. She never followed me back, but I’m sure it’s because she didn’t recognize my username, which is pun-based.
Audrey is quite literally a babe, and I’d like to refer to her as such since we’re almost friends.
So yes, the b-word slipped out. I wish we could be chill about it. Alas, social constructs are a thing, and we are merely at the “girl” level of acquaintance— if even that.
I own my terrible actions, the consequences of which I may never recover from.
I forced her to reciprocate a hint of affection back to me. Super douchey of me, I know. She was like, “Oh hey there! … Lady!” It was the first glimpse I saw of her being so un-babelike.
She did look really effortlessly pretty as she struggled for those words, though.
As for now, I’m doing what I have to do. I unfollowed her on all social media platforms, and I’m currently taking refuge at the Starbase in Boca Chica, Texas while I plan my escape. I’m going to hijack the Starship prototype and blast off to Mars. It’s the only way I can be free from my shameful interaction failure. Plus, it’s space.
The first step to escaping this planet is befriending the girl who works security at the launch site. She seems cool. I bet she listens to Haim and only shops fast fashion once a month. We’d probably vibe so hard if we compared moon signs.
Oh no. I accidentally called her “babe” when she waved hello. We weren’t even on a first-name basis. My plan here is ruined. I guess I’m headed to the Mariana Trench now to live amongst the deep-sea dwellers.