In recent news, Madison, WI resident Charlee Brower lent me a sweater after I complained about being “chilly”. However, as I was pulling it over my head, she said, “Just don’t stretch it out.”
Sources are now able to confirm that she is officially dead to me.
“It’s a really nice sweater and I just got it,” says Brower. “Oh my gosh, no, I don’t mean you’re bigger than me. I was just saying.”
Upon further reflection I concluded that yes, she did mean to say I was bigger than her, and I plan to never acknowledge her existence again.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she added.
Sources confirm it’s too late, bitch.
Now that Charlee is 100% buried in the ground (in my eyes), my friends have been quick to share their opinions.
“That’s actually so fucked up,” my girl Sherry texted me after I told her what happened. “And I bet you looked better in her dumb little sweater.”
The reports are in: I did.
“Oh, I don’t think she meant it like that,” said my friend Julie Crary after I brought it up over pad thai. “Your body is beautiful!”
To which I responded, “Of course I know my body is beautiful. But because you empathize with the enemy, this friendship is officially over.”
Despite my clear metaphorical burial of both Charlee and Julie, they have both made efforts to contact me.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” texted Charlee. “Also, not to be annoying but I really do need that sweater back.”
Sources show that you can have it back if you want it, but I did my darndest to stretch it out into a loose fabric that looks nothing like your original garment. That’s life. Stay out of mine.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were so hurt by what Charlee said. You can borrow my sweaters anytime!” texted Julie.
“This is not a time for jokes. Charlee is dead,” I replied. “To me.”
When reached for further comment, I told Julie:
“Your sweaters are bad. I would never wear them. R.I.P.”
