Hey girl, cooking in your off-the-shoulder sweater. Oh man, I was so distracted by your sexy clavicle that I almost didn’t notice that Method Man portrait you have in the background. Next thing I know, you’ll probably be able to roll a blunt while we wait for the tiny, adorable mini-cheeseburgers with that fresh goat cheese you got from the organic bodega to cook.
And you’ll be all “What, girls can’t make hamburgers and roll blunts?” Like in romantic comedies when it turns out the really girly-girl can shoot a gun, or is a rabid football fan.
And I’ll say “Naw girl, I don’t play into gender roles or stereotyping. We live in a post-gender society.”
But secretly, in my head, I’ll be like, “DAYUM GIRL. YOU LIKE A HOT INA GARTEN. I’LL BE YOUR GEOFFREY AND YOU CAN BE MY INA. I’LL COME HOME FROM WORK DOING WHATEVER GUYS WHO ARE BUSINESSMEN DO IN MANHATTAN WHILE YOU MAKE AWESOME QUICHE LORRAINES AND PROFITEROLES FOR ME. AND I’LL KNOW YOU HIDE THE EXTRA ICE CREAM UNDERNEATH THE FROZEN PEAS ‘CAUSE WE ARE IN LOVE AND WHEN YOU’RE IN LOVE YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR HONEY HIDES THE EXTRA ICE CREAM.”
