Miss you, Leah.
Love,
Simon
FROM: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
TO: SIMONIRVINSPIER@GMAIL.COM
DATE: OCT 16 AT 10:01 AM
SUBJECT: RE: BACK IN PHILLY!!
Right, so what’s actually adorable is the thought of you sitting on your little dorm bed typing the words “freaking fuck.” I don’t want to turn your world upside down, Spier, but the whole point of freaking is to avoid saying fuck. Freaking fuck is like ordering a Diet Coke and twenty donuts. Just say fuck, you know? Own it. Live your truth. (I did, by the way, ace the fucking fuck out of that quiz.)
Simon, listen to me: I am always, always up for a spiral. Don’t apologize. This is a massive change for you guys, and I can’t begin to imagine what that must feel like. Obviously, my situation right now is the opposite of long-distance, but I’ve definitely thought about the whole being-fully-present thing. My mom always used to talk about how she never really had an Immersive College Experience (aka Baby Me was a cockblock). Anyway, she always said she liked the idea of me starting with a total blank slate—no babies, no relationships. Don’t get me wrong, she’s totally all-in on Abby. But I guess I must have internalized the whole idea of it at some point, because every so often, I find myself asking what parties I’m saying no to because I’d rather stay in with my girlfriend. (And then I remember I’m perfectly fucking fine saying no to parties, girlfriend or no girlfriend.)
So what I’m trying to say is I get where you’re coming from, at least about the one-foot-in, one-foot-out feeling. But maybe that’s just what happens when you find a person you like better than the rest of the world. You say yes to your person and no to the world, over and over and over (until you’re old and married, I guess? Jesus Christ, I don’t know).
Anyway, I’m so sorry you’re having such a shitty time with all of this. I really hate how much you’re hurting. But, Simon, you don’t owe anyone your happiness. You know that, right? You can mope around and miss your boyfriend and be sad when he does stuff without you, and that’s a pretty fucking normal way to feel, actually. I’m not saying you should be an asshole to him about it. But don’t be an asshole to yourself either.
I love you, mopehead. Glad you made your flight.
FROM: ABBYSUSO710@GMAIL.COM
TO: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
DATE: OCT 24 AT 1:19 PM
SUBJECT: HEAR ME OUT
Ms. Burke, I’ve taken all your concerns under advisement, and I have reached the conclusion that I’m on the right side of this issue. I intend to make my final case below. I ask only that you read it with an open mind and heart.
Reasons Why Leah Burke and Abby Suso Need to Be CatDog for Halloween: A Point-by-Point Analysis
CatDog is an underappreciated icon, who deserves all the honor and respect in the world after being overlooked for decades (by everyone but my brother, Isaac William Suso, who once had to be talked out of getting a six-inch CatDog tattoo around his bicep. But tattoos, as you can imagine, are a completely different conversation. Might I remind you that Halloween costumes are fleeting and impermanent, much like our very existence?).
CatDog, being both a cat and a dog, is therefore at least twice as creative as any single cat or dog costume.
Built-in conversation starter: CatDog’s bodily functions.
CatDog can be accomplished with the barest shortlist of items (two extra-long yellow T-shirts, yellow tights, felt, glue, poster board, markers, extra fabric, face paint) (okay, it’s not the barest shortlist, but it’s cheaper than a Hogwarts robe).
Literally what could be sexier than a conjoined cat and dog??
Frankly, I kind of dig the idea of being physically attached to you all night.
In conclusion: Will you take my dog body to fuse with your cat body for as long as we both shall attend Caitlin’s Halloween party this weekend?
xoxo
Abby
FROM: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
TO: ABBYSUSO710@GMAIL.COM
DATE: OCT 24 AT 3:15 PM
SUBJECT: RE: HEAR ME OUT
You know, for all the hours I spent daydreaming about what it would be like to date you, I somehow failed to anticipate the involvement of CatDog. You realize CatDog is essentially a penis with animal heads on either end, right? And are the cat and dog romantically involved with each other? Are they siblings? I don’t know, Suso. If we’re going to walk around dressed like them all night, I feel like we should know their deal.
(I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this. Like, I actually, seriously can’t believe it, even as I’m typing this. These four-letter-L-word feelings are starting to be a PROBLEM.)
So, I’m the cat, huh?
Kind regards,
LCB
FROM: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
TO: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
DATE: OCT 28 AT 3:04 AM
SUBJECT: THIS NIGHT
All right, first of all, Bramster, your latest Instagram post is a personal attack. You in a Ravenclaw robe????? Text me a warning next time or something. You know PERFECTLY WELL I now have to drop a thirsty heart-eye emoji in your comments section (where my sisters can see it!!! THANKS A LOT). You’re just so fucking gorgeous. Sometimes I see a picture of you, and I’m like, holy shit, that’s my boyfriend. I should really make a PowerPoint with pictures of you and call it Sorry, Gents, He’s Taken. It’ll be great, I’ll make the whole world die of jealousy.
Anyway, hope you and Garrett are having a happy Halloween weekend (which should definitely be called Halloweekend, why aren’t we doing that??) (wait, I just googled it and apparently people ARE doing it, so congrats I guess to all you Einsteins out there who made it a hashtag. Way to be a million times smarter than me). Okay, I already forgot what I’m talking about. GOD I HAVE
