Artwork by Shane P. Smith; available on Instagram

Jenna,

I’m leaving this note on your windshield because you clearly didn’t notice that you hit my car as you pulled into this space. You also didn’t notice that I was sitting right in the front seat, watching you slowly pull into a spot that was obviously too small while you yapped away on your phone. Just like you didn’t notice me throughout most of high school, except for that one time when I was wearing those new khaki-colored cargo pants from Old Navy sophomore year and you told me I looked skinny. That’s probably the reason that I still own so many pairs of khaki pants. Like, too many pairs.

I’m not sure how you neglected to realize that you hit me—it was quite possibly the slowest car accident that has ever happened.  It happened in such slow motion and over such a substantial amount of time that the stupid little dog on your lap must have run back and forth from drivers’ side to passenger window a million times while your stupid Jeep Wrangler slowly scratched the entire length of my vehicle. That dog sitting on your lap reminded me of that time in English freshman year when you sat on Brandon Thompson’s lap and started sucking on his fingers in the middle of class. What was that all about? What a weird fucking thing to do in the middle of English class.

I don’t know who you were talking to on the phone as metal grated against metal, but you were clearly upset about something. Not upset enough to NOT take a selfie mid-argument. You’ll probably post it later with the hashtag “WranglerLife” or “YOLO” or “40andFabulous.” It’s like that time in 8^th grade when you intercepted that note that I wrote to Stephanie telling her how cute I thought Danny Roache was, and then you and your friends followed me to my locker and yelled at me because Kirsten LaRoach had just broken up with him, like, two seconds ago. But it was ludicrous that two people with such similar last names should be together. And besides, you made it clear that Danny would never like me because I was too “fugly” for him.

Ok, so maybe this isn’t anything like that, but you’re clearly still a terrible human being. I hope that new cold shoulder t-shirt you buy today is worth whatever you still have left on your insurance deductible, because fuck you, Jenna.

– Alicia