You are one of my closest and bestest friends, you are my daughter’s godmother and I love you. Despite the fact that for the past twenty years that I’ve known you, you’ve looked like a fucking supermodel and refused to show signs of aging.
But I am concerned that you don’t love me.
This morning I emailed you asking you for midtown restaurant recommendations, because I am having dinner tonight with some Mouthy Housewives. Your response? “Let me get back to you later this morning, after pilates! xo”. Pilates? Nice.
If you cared for me at all, you would have responded, “let me get back to you later this morning, after I finish eating a muffin the size of Nicki’s head.”
Just an FYI.
Thanks in advance.
Love, Marinka