Wow, No Thank You.

by Samantha Irby

You know what feels like a lot of pressure to me? Being the sole object of one person’s affections. Stay with me—I’m not about to surprise you by pretending to understand what being polyamorous actually means. I’m saying that I spent many, many agonizing years desperate for someone to pay attention to me, and now that there’s a spotlight on everything I do, it’s like, “Hey, babe, should we get you a girlfriend?” I’m not as interesting as I thought I was. I mean, is anyone? It’s one thing to be cool and glamorous on date night once a week, but when you have to see a person Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday: I do not have enough party tricks for this. Every time I glance over and my lady is texting someone, my brain screams, THANK GOD, I HOPE THIS BITCH IS GOING OUT!!!!! “Wow, sweetie, are you liking someone’s Instagrams? Would you like to talk to that person while I try to do literally anything I can tell you about later?” I am flooded with relief every time I walk in the house and she’s on the phone with someone I’ve never met. You know why? That takes the heat off my ass for five minutes. Listen, I’m not posturing as one of those ~cool girls~ who is supremely confident and doesn’t get jealous. I just don’t get jealous of my wife double-tapping some stud in cornrows and boxer briefs on her pocket computer. What’s the harm? Is she going to leave me for her? Probably not—all her shirts and canned tomatoes live here!