Wow, No Thank You - Samantha Irby Page 0,27

balance a checkbook but would nevertheless feel entitled to weigh in on my choice of career and life mate and Internet service provider. Neither of them lived long enough to suffer through the indignity of an introductory meal with someone I was sleeping with, and thank goodness for that. My parents have been dead for twenty-two years and even now my insides churn at the very thought of my father scowling at my wife over his leather-tough tri tip at the Sizzler like, “You’re a what now? A teacher? Do you make any money doing that? Who’s gonna pay for that rib eye?!” as I burn with white-hot shame while eating directly from the all-you-can-eat salad bar. FUCK THAT SHIT, YOU GOTTA DIE. *makes stabbing motions*

Back when I had feelings, my self-esteem was a toilet. It caused me actual physical pain to know that someone didn’t like me. I mean, it still does, but I’m better insulated by drugs these days. A handy trick is to think long and hard about what the person who hates you would realistically add to your life if they were to actually be a part of it. Most people really do have absolutely nothing to offer you. Pull out the abacus and make a pros and cons list if you have to—I’ll wait. If you require a push to get started, here’s an example from a recent entry in my diary about some asshole I don’t miss anymore:

pro: once made me laugh at a dad joke

con: EVERYTHING FUCKING ELSE LOL BYE BITCH

Okay, okay, now let’s do yours:

pro: made a son that you like

con: weird about a four-year age difference between you and that son. I mean, come on, have they never seen any celebrities?

con: obvs do not understand basic tenets of healthcare and infectious disease

con: insist upon hosting “social events” in their home

con: They suck. It’s pretty obvious.

Once you make your list, frame it inside your heart and refer back to it every time you hear these dudes are having a backyard luau or whatever kind of garbage party regular people throw. Come on now, do you really want to sit on the edge of a hard-backed chair clutching some Costco Chardonnay while Bob and Janice regale you with stories about the Alaskan cruise they took last fall? No, you want to be blowing your nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and watching Billions while you and the cat share a bowl of ice cream. WIN, WIN.

It seems I will never meet my “Mr. Right.” Every person I’m attracted to is either in a relationship or doesn’t like me. When is it okay to just “settle”?

Honestly, you can settle whenever the hell you want. I think it’s just a matter of deciding what you want and what’s important to you, and if you find it, lasso that bull and drag him into the stable. But first you have to recognize that there being one right, perfect person is a fallacy sold to you by romantic comedies. Dismantle the lie that finding said person is an achievable goal for someone who is not a bland actress in one of those Netflix movies you keep scrolling past. I’m not mad at it—I love the lie—but I also understand that it’s a fantasy.

Maybe this is the upside of being ugly, but when men throw shit at you and scream lewd shit at you from passing cars on the street when you’re just trying to get to the bus stop after school, the idea of there being one in a bespoke suit descending from a carriage to escort you to a fancy party doesn’t seem like a thing that could happen in real life. Oh, really, Prince Charming is going to find a glass slipper to awkwardly slide onto this elephantine size 11 foot? Hollywood won’t sell me that dream! Television forced me to look at romantic relationships from a practical perspective; I would be like Mabel, waddling through the door after an endless shift at work to yell at my fatherless children, Raj and Dee, about whatever hijinks