Somehow a bunch of enchanted woodland animals get into my apartment every morning to dress me up like Snow White even though I’m an adult man who lives in Midtown fucking Manhattan and works as a risk methodology analyst at Deutsche Bank. I have to undo the whole goddamn outfit before work, and it’s ruining my chances at making a senior position. I’m starting to get worried that it will never end. These are the animals that are doing this to me for reasons unknown to me.
This flock of bluebirds flies into my living-room window to hoist a red, yellow, and blue dress onto me every single day. I don’t know where the hell they got a Snow White dress that fits me perfectly even though I’m 6-foot-1 and weigh 200 pounds, but they have one. I have an entire closet full of Brooks Brothers shirts that I buy for myself because those are obviously what I need to wear to my office so I don’t look like an absolute freak, but these birds seem to think they’re helping me out by fluttering into my bathroom and putting a puffy-ass dress on me after I shower. The other day I didn’t have time to get the whole thing off before work and had to run out the door with the bodice on. I wore a trench coat in the office all day even though lots of people gave me weird looks and I was sweating bullets. I wish the bluebirds could have seen me then, so they’d finally realize that whatever magic shit they have going on is not something I need in my life at all. It’s incredibly tough working at a fast-paced office like Deutsche every day, and they are making it much, much tougher for me.
At least twice in the past month I have tried to explain to this deer that I don’t need it to wake me up at 6 a.m. by dabbing bright red blush on my cheeks with a makeup brush it holds in its mouth, because I am a 36-year-old man who works in finance and am not interested in wearing any fucking makeup to do my job. I look like a complete idiot when I show up to important meetings with lipstick smudges that I failed to wipe off lining the corners of my mouth, but this deer will not let up. My boss commented that I had some glitter on my eyelid the other day, and I had to make up a whole story about having a 3-year-old daughter. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do when he finds out that’s a lie, but that’s just one of a lot of fucking problems I’m dealing with right now. I don’t understand why this deer can’t just go put all this makeup on someone who could use it.
Don’t even get me started on the fucking chipmunk that ties a big-ass red bow in my hair every single day. On weekends I’ll leave the bow on for a couple hours just to humor him so he stops squeaking “Oh, how lovely you look!” at me while I’m trying to finish making my breakfast. He looks so happy when he puts it on, like he’s just done the nicest thing in the world for me. It should be adorable, the way he clasps both hands and gasps and his big eyes light up when the bow is in my hair, but it only infuriates me. I don’t understand why he doesn’t look around my closet full of exclusively black and khaki pants and take the hint that he’s got the wrong guy.
These mice sing me an annoying-ass song while they strap high heels onto my feet every morning—“Oh, beautiful princess / Put shoes on your feet / So that you can charm / Each new person you meet!” That stupid fucking melody is in my head all goddamn day while I’m trying to look at spreadsheets, and it’s driving me insane. When they’re finished they always tell me I will look “so stunning at the ball.” What? I just need to make it to Starbucks in time to get a coffee before work. I don’t need to look stunning at whatever goddamn “ball” they’re referring to. That should be obvious to them at this point, but they don’t seem to care. I live in a high-rise with hundreds of other units, so I have no idea how they chose me out of anybody else in the city, but these mice need to fuck off right back to the woods where they came from before they cost me a promotion.
How the fuck is an owl like this living in New York City? And why the fuck does it think it’s allowed to fly right past my doorman and up to my apartment where it sits on my Vitamix and brushes my hair while I’m just trying to make a smoothie? Last week it followed me all the way to work, trying to braid my hair the whole way. My hair is barely longer than a buzzcut, so you can imagine how painful this is. I couldn’t manage to get this owl away from me no matter how many times I whacked at it with my suitcase or tried to lose it in the subway. Out of desperation and being sleep-deprived over worrying about this shit, I gave up and went to work, and just prayed that my coworkers would ignore the owl. Well, I should’ve realized, but you can’t just fucking ignore a huge owl brushing your coworker’s hair in the middle of a financial office—especially when it’s smiling and humming like a human would, which may be cute in kids’ movies, but in real life, is utterly fucking terrifying. HR had to call me in for a meeting and tell me I can’t bring animals into office, as if I chose to become the office freak of my own free will. I can’t stand this much longer. These animals are going to ruin my career.