People- who some would call haters but I prefer to think of as troubled and going through personal pain in their life- like to showcase their bitterness by saying, “Where’s Victoria’s Secret? Where is she hiding it, under her 1cm of fabric?” Well, no it’s not in the merchandise you’d actually purchase. You can have your bras with that little padding going on, which makes each cup about the size of a dorm room, but there’s no room for secrets there. No, merchandise is for peasants. It’s in the feathers, sewed under the rhinestones, inside the legit jewels or the bodices (Romanov style), they built the secret into the sculpture attached the underwear being modeled. They always have this fantasy bra and sell it for millions.
Here’s the real question: who would buy that? You will never, ever wear it! Like, can you imagine seeing someone other than Gisele wear that in real life? And I know what you’re thinking: you don’t wear it, you buy it and display it. It’s a collector’s item. Why? Who’s collecting? Because all I can picture is this man alone in life except for a cat and the pair of glasses that makes him feel like his true self can shine. He goes on a date in a while and brings his special someone home… especially if it’s a woman, and she’s still pretending to be less crazy and more sophisticated than she really is, so she’s calm and collected, very cool.
Until she walks in the front door. “WHAT IS THAT? Which angel are you dating and what am I doing in your life?” And he’ll be all flustered because he could never have predicted she’d react to seeing his fantasy bra and he doesn’t know what to say because he’s never imagined having to explain it before. So he’s trying to reassure her before the only promising target- I mean partner- in a long time exits his life, like “No, it’s mine, I swear. You see, it’s a collector’s item. It’s like I said at dinner- I’m fond of modern art and I patron today’s most influential creators, you see?” Oh, it gets better by the way.
The relationship continues, we get serious, she moves herself into his place while he’s not looking. And then she has friends over. They see the fantasy bra and they’re like, “OMG BABE WOW!” and she has to explain that it’s his so they stare at one another awkwardly until one girl just pushes her way the crowd she thinks everyone else can see too and screams, “you idiot, he’s cheating on you” and she has to drop everything even though she’s not doing anything so she can explain that she and her man are proud patrons of modern art but forgets the other line she gives in the play, so she needs to improvise. And she just tells her girl,
“Fine, if you say it’s a problem, then- like no- I’m thinking the same thing, the same thing, right? I’ll just add a feather, call it my own original design, and sell it on Etsy for like fifty bucks. Plus shipping. No, like, don’t worry, he’ll never notice it’s gone. No, like, there’s no way he’ll miss it; he has me. Stop being a hater on true love, Linda. Just because I’ve reached my destiny, and you’re unemployed, unattractive, and unimportant. Find a real job, find a real man, and then come talk to me. Hashtag no haterz, hashtag happy space, hashtag blessed.”
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