You know how when you somehow decide it would be an awesome, merry idea to send gushing fan letters on Instagram to some of the people you just saw on Broadway and you try to make your effusive gushing really clever because that’s a Very Special Skill you have and in your delusion your unbounded cleverness will make the Broadway people so flattered and touched and amused that OF COURSE they’ll read your gushing fan letters to their entire and entirely grateful casts who will probably hopefully maybe all respond to you with notes that are effusively thankful and not at all guarded because they’re trying to gauge whether or not to put out restraining orders on you—which just so happens to be something you literally joked about in your fan letters in an attempt to be Very Specially Clever—and the morning after you’ve sent your gushing fanboy letters you wake in a clammy-skin gray-sweat mortifying epiphany about the horrors you’ve unleashed and now you’re afraid to open Instagram in the mortal fear that your Broadway people HAVE in fact responded and you suddenly realize that the last thing in the world you want is to see what they might have to say to you either way because you’d actually rather instead be pushed by judgy cool kids into a volcano of feral she-wolves as swarms of angry syphilis bees eat your eyes?
Me neither.
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