I’m what the French call “a straight-up bitch.” I’m shallow. I’ve backstabbed, both literally and figuratively, but that’s a story for another day. I use multiple plastic straws every day, even in hot beverages. Or rather, Diane did.
Every year, I make a New Year’s resolutions to lose 10 lbs., but this past year, I got a tapeworm from the dark web, so my body is banging. I was considering my replacement resolution at my company’s holiday potluck while I eavesdropped on Pornstache and Carb Girl talking about the croquembouche that Jane made. “Jane is just the sweetest!” one of them said. “Honestly, if more people could be like Jane, the world would be a better place.” Hmm. Jane. That woman I call Mrs. Potato Sack?
Yes, that’s the one! You see, Jane is so simple. So humble. And yet, so happy. No one at work ever spoke about me the way our coworkers gush about Jane. They don’t say “Hi” or “Bye” or “Nice Jimmy Choos.” Maybe, as improbable as it seems, I was doing something wrong. That’s why, as the clock struck midnight, I said goodbye to Diane and hello to Jane.
It started with New Year’s Day at the soup kitchen. I’ve never spoken to a poor, been to a soup kitchen, or eaten soup, but I saw the flyers Jane put up in the office about volunteering on New Year’s Day, so I took my new W.W.J.D. attitude and showed up ready to eat soup.
Apparently, the soup wasn’t for volunteers, which was fine because it looked wretched. But those homeless were so happy to have it. Jane thanked me for showing up, so I followed her lead and thanked her. We did a few rounds of “No, thank you,” and even though I had a splash of nasty soup on my Jimmy Choos, I wasn’t even upset. Jane would never wear those shoes.
I asked Jane about her shoes, and she sent me a link from Amazon. Two days later, I, too was sporting a pair of Dansko clogs. Who knew there were shoes that didn’t make your feet bleed? I swear these shoes feel better than sex!
I started wearing pants like Jane’s, which I learned are called “trousers,” and got some big cardigans from Talbots. No wonder Jane is always so happy; she’s not walking around with her circulation cut off and freezing in an attempt to always have her cleavage showing. Being Jane is so comfortable!
Jane has a modest figure, which she obtains through a diet of waffles, spaghetti, and fried chicken with a small side salad. O.M.G. Spaghetti?! This stuff is the tits! Fuck you, zoodles! I went crazy ordering matching Tupperware (Jane sent me the Amazon link for that, too!) so that I, too, could start packing a daily spaghetti lunch. To better resemble Jane, I removed my massive breast implants, and in true Jane spirit, I donated them to one of the women from the soup kitchen who was flat as a board. She threw them square in my face when I handed them to her, but I think she was just super excited.
Jane rides the bus every day because she cares about the environment. R.I.P. my beautiful straws. I ceremoniously tossed them into the ocean, and now I also ride the bus with Jane. On the bus, Jane says “Hi” to everyone. I gave it a shot, saying “Hi” to every rando I saw, and unlike the high I used to get from prescription meth, this one actually makes me feel good inside.
Jane constantly has people stopping by to chat with her in her cubicle. She jokes that everyone comes to her cubicle for her kisses, so my first attempt to lure people into mine went wildly awry. It turns out Jane gives people Hershey’s kisses. I now have a candy jar in my office, and I’m hoping people will see me as the Jane I am and start coming in!
Jane’s cubicle is covered with photos of her and her husband, Jim. Jim looks like a cross between a doughnut hole and a Bullmastiff. He’s what the old Diane would call “fuckin’ heinous,” but Jane seems happy, so uggos, here I come! I joined Christian Mingle, where Jane met Jim, and there are so many options once you start dating uggos. I went out just last night with a guy who was so excited to be going out with me, he actually went down on me on the first date and didn’t even push my head down afterwards.
It’s good to be Jane. I’m almost starting to even feel bad, like Jane would, that I’m eventually going to have to kill her.