Hey Julie. Yes you, Julie Houghlin. We get it. Your boyfriend loves you. Remember when you used to make fun posts on social media and were fun to hang out with? Yeah. Ever since your boyfriend dropped the L word, both your social media presence and contributions to conversation have become unbearable. You’re laser-focused on that asshole. It’s like, we get it Julie. You don’t need to remind us every fucking day.
Your Instagram account was once a gold mine of adorably crappy meals you made yourself using Pinterest recipes. The way Instagram should be. Now every picture you post seems to be of a decadent dinner for two captioned, “Look what my baby made for us! Can’t wait to kiss the chef!” when really it should say, “I’m fucking boring now!” So, your boyfriend went to culinary school for a hot second. We’re not impressed, Julie. We already knew your boyfriend loved you and as a result, we’re starting to hate you.
Don’t get me started on your Facebook page. It feels odd referring to it as “your” Facebook page since there isn’t a single post without “Ryan Danger Mando” tagged. Ryan’s posts are as bad as yours. He took a photography class in college so I guess he thinks he’s a pro of sorts. He names all the albums of you two getting coffee after Beatles song titles. We get it, Ryan. You love the fuck out of Julie. Now get on with your life.
Everybody knows that our online persona is drastically different from how we actually are in real life, so I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. That’s why I agreed to have lunch with you at Chipotle the other day. I wasn’t even halfway finished with my burrito when I thought I might die from TMLI (too much love information). Except for the brief time you spent explaining your start-up idea and updating me on your family and asking me about what I’ve been up to, all you talked about was Ryan. Can we focus on ONE other thing for ONE SECOND?!
For example, I didn’t necessarily need to know that whenever you’re having a bad day at work, Ryan texts you pictures of puppies and sometimes stops by on his lunch break to deliver your favorite drink from Starbucks. That’s a disgusting, intimate detail you should have kept to yourself, just like when you told me about his freckles. I don’t need to know that and neither does anybody else.
Spare me interactions like this by not hanging out with me until you and Ryan break up. Thanks, Julie.
