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Dear Best Buy :: Fuck You

30 May

Last night I dreamt of you. Your tallness proceeds you, even in my dreams. So do your eyes. We were on a train filled with other girls my age; you were the only male. I’m sure that says something about my low self esteem when comparing myself to other females, or some dream psychology mumbo jumbo like that. Anyway. I was on my way to do some important job related thing (the job, however, escapes me now), and you were accompanying me as a mentor of sorts. The stress of the trip was really beginning to get to me and I complained to you about a nagging headache. So you placed your long, spider-like fingers on my scalp and began to massage the precise area causing me grief. The feeling was orgasmic, and I turned to face you, your fingers now tangled up in my hair.  There was a moment where our eyes met, then suddenly it was our stop and we had to get off the train (but not before I threw a smug smile at the girls who were glaring enviously at me, ie. all of them). We walked through some undetermined city together, side by side, and off in the distance I saw The Avengers showing Spider-Man the ropes of working as a team. I asked you if you thought Emma Stone was nearby. You didn’t know who Emma Stone was. We kept walking. Eventually, we stopped to eat our lunch. You perched yourself on the ledge of a planter holding a tree in front of some fancy looking office building, and I stood facing you. We ate noodles out of yellow Tupperware; it looked as if it might have been Pad Thai. As we ate we made faces at each other, our mouths stuffed with food, and it was really unbecoming of the both of us. I had just shoved another forkful of noodles into my mouth when suddenly – without any warning – you vocalized how beautiful I was to you. I was speechless, and so you leaned in to gently kiss me. And what a kiss. After this, we parted ways. I’m not really sure what happened in between our separation (I probably went on to whatever the job related thing was), but later in the dream you sent me a note asking me to come visit you in your flat. I was flustered, and I hurried over right away. I remember quivering with anticipation as I knocked on your door. My eyes gazed on the address: 221b Baker Street. You opened it, smiled, and welcomed me in. You closed the door behind me, opened your mouth, and said –

And then Best Buy woke me up to let me know that it is going to cost $700 to fix my laptop. They waited for that exact moment to call me. They dream cockblocked me.

Best Buy is the reason I will probably never, in my life, get to have dream sex with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Fuck you, Best Buy.

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