Watching Mad Men last night (reviewing the last season before starting in on the new one to remind myself what happened – DON’T TELL ME ANY SPOILERS) I had a sudden and irrevocable realization.
I am basically Don Draper.
Let’s review the facts, shall we?
He has a ridiculous orange chair at his desk. I have almost the exact same chair at my desk. (I can’t actually find any pictures of his chair, and I’m too lazy to take my own picture, so you’re just going to have to trust me on this one)
- He’s constantly surrounded by beautiful women. My friends are really, really good-looking.
- He’s a tortured soul with a crippling dependency on alcohol and floozies, desperately trying to escape the pain of the present. I’m… well, I did drink like half a bottle of wine last night to escape the knowledge that I owe disturbing amounts of money to the government. And I’m marrying Justin mostly for his hot butt, so that kind of counts, right?
Okay, so I only have two and a half things in common with him (unless we’re counting a mutual appreciation of well-tailored suits from the 60’s). WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET ME HAVE MY DREAMS? Do I make fun of you when you say you could have been a supermodel were it not for your love of cheese cake? No, I support that shit, and tell you that furthermore you could have won the Nobel Prize in chemistry if it weren’t for the fact that you were an English major. Because I care about your feelings.