Dear Beautiful Trader Joe’s Man,

As noted in your newly christened and unknowingly/imaginarily accepted nickname, you are very beautiful. The lovely length of your dark lashes, your heart-achingly bashful smile, that perfectly groomed facial hair that makes a lady (this lady in particular) go, “unf”–these qualities, and so much more, are what compounds my obsession with you. Okay, not an obsession, because I’ve gone there and it is not a pretty place to be, obsessed. Slightly infatuated, is more like it. And I’ll have you know, I am not one for facial hair, Orlando Bloom and Ryan Gosling being two exceptions, of course. (Although weirdly enough the most attractive men I’ve been on dates with had beards…so maybe it’s time for me to stop saying “yeuchh facial hair” but c’mon I mean not everyone can pull it off). It is with the greatest respect (largely mixed in with lust and hormones) that I would describe you as “James Franco, but like, with darker hair and prettier.”

I must apologize that I did not seize the opportunity to admire your beauty before. Clearly, you had existed before that one fateful day whereupon you rung up my groceries and asked me an incredibly thought-provoking and existential crisis-inducing question that went along the lines of, “How’s it going?” And then proceeded to smile that breathtakingly adorable smile of yours, to which I responded by awkwardly smiling in return and eloquently uttering, “Uh, good…” all the while thinking, WTH WHY HAVE I NEVER NOTICED HOW HOT THIS DUDE WAS BEFORE SHITTTTT

I must confess that I lingered by the organic bananas last weekend to watch you stack boxes of fresh vegetables in Aisle 1. You also have a very comely figure, I should like to add. It was incredibly cute how you patiently waited for customers to finish contemplating the crisis of whether to purchase broccoli florets or broccoli heads before squatting down and unloading your goods (innuendo partially intended). My apologies for sounding creepy. I assure you I only lingered momentarily and had no thoughts of following you home or any such thing. Okay, now I sound even creepier because I wrote it out, but seriously, that did not cross my mind like AT ALL until now and I only thought of it now because it sounded like it would be funny to throw in but I guess if people reading this actually thought I was a psychotic stalker instead of a slightly creepy but totally harmless and mostly awkward young woman then I’d be in deep shit ok I’ll shut up now

Anyway, perchance you would take offense at my depiction of your superficial traits and chastise me for not probing further, past your handsome exterior and into the depths of your soul. Or idk probably you wouldn’t I mean who knows, it’s not like I actually know you or anything. Clearly this is a very shallow thing. I’m superimposing all these romantic notions of how sweet and charming you must be, onto your ridiculously good-looking face, simply due to my perception of your attractiveness. It’s dumb, I know, but everyone does it. We’re all shallow to some extent, amirite?

You probably have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Well some kind of significant other. You probably cook gluten-free shit together and jog with your dogs and are really good at oral. Or maybe you’re a solitary kind of guy, you go to bars on occasion because your friends make you, otherwise you’d just stay at home and read sci fi books written with the white imagination which inspire you to write your own sci fi books only you’ve got writer’s block because being a crew member at a grocery store doesn’t exactly provide the most creative outlet and you’ve already tried the mutant vegetables angle and it’s not going to fucking work, and now you’re back to being depressed because you want more out of life than just compulsively stocking up on 12 different kinds of hummus and you want to do more than just putter around in community college and maybe you’re one of those guys who wants a Manic Pixie Dream Girl and you think she’ll just solve all your problems or some shit and maybe you snore and maybe you’re an alcoholic and maybe you’re antifeminist and maybe you’d hate karaoke and other awesome things

but very definitely, you will go on living your life blissfully unaware that some slightly creepy but totally harmless and mostly awkward young woman wrote a quasi-letter to some fictional version of you out of boredom and longing

 

 

 

 

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