By Izzy Ster
LOS ANGELES, CA – After attending the rager of the weekend, you were shocked to discover the pretty girl you chatted with ghosted you, indicating she was just talking with you as a polite gesture to pass the time.
This past weekend, you went to an off-the-chain function — a house party with jungle juice that was 80% water, 10% Vodka of the Gods, and 5% unidentified liquid — and believed you met the love of your life: Clara St. James. She is a Thornton major, or something equally as esoteric that will leave her broke and guarantee your status as breadwinner, with tangible interests like Neutral Milk Hotel, Star Wars, and Letterboxd. Nobody else likes those underground gems! It was a self-proclaimed “love at first sight.” You had her at “Hey, what’s your major?” An epic romance for the ages!
“Who?” Clara said when reached out for comment. “Oh that guy. Yeah, I got cornered at my roommate’s friend’s roommate’s cousin’s birthday party by some dude. We talked about school, I might’ve cracked a joke or two, but no, I’m definitely not interested. I agreed with him that the Beatles are one of the best bands of all time, and he almost came in his pants. Is that flirting? I have a boyfriend, and Octopus Garden objectively fucks!”
Other witnesses at the party claim “it looked like they were just talking about the weather” and “it was clear she was trying to get her roommate’s attention to get her out of the conversation” by repeatedly tugging S.O.S. on her earlobe, remarked an attendee fluent in Morse Code. One party goer alleges Clara even feigned menstrual cramps to get out of the conversation and Irish goodbye the whole shindig.
You were taken aback hearing these comments from Clara, becoming angry and even vengeful that she didn’t agree there was a mutual spark. I mean, you even told her about that one big fight you had with your mother in seventh grade! She just…got you. After only talking with each other for seven minutes, it was clear to you that you two were meant to be together forever. She’s a fool if she can’t understand that. “Whatever. She’s not even that hot anyways,” you reportedly scoffed, as you ran away crying and rushed to delete the customized Spotify playlist you made for her that already has two likes from your sister and your therapist.