Dear Pretend Girlfriend:

Today is the day that we are going on an exciting excursion where we will need to impress people. Probably attending our first dinner party with real linen napkins and everything, which is so freaking adult we could cry.

“The little forks are for salad, right?” you ask me while putting on mascara in front of the bathroom mirror.

I am trying to work product into my hair, standing on tip-toe behind you to grab a corner of the mirror for myself. “Yes, unless we’re having lobster. Then the littlest fork might be for knuckle meat.”

If you’re a vegan, you’ll make a face. I run into the bedroom to pull on my clothes, my best pinstripes and a shirt that screams FANCY DINNER PARTY GUEST TRYING TO PLAY IT COOL. It’s got this ruffle thing. It’s nice.

“We’re going to be late,” I call to you as I slap on my wristwatch and earrings. “You almost ready, darling?” Our running joke for the week has been that dinner party guests call each other “darling.”

You come into the room taking off your robe. You’re already dressed in your best pinstripes and a ruffley blouse, a shade away from mine. We look at each other, disgusted.

This is something that old, boring couples do: dress alike. We had always sworn this would never happen to us. We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that our wardrobes remain separate and different. We should not even own outfits so similar. One of us has done wrong, that much is for certain.

“When did you get that?” you accuse.

“I’ve always had this,” I snap. “When did YOU get–?”

We bicker because neither one of us will admit we bought nearly the exact same top for this occasion. We don’t want to let each other know we cared so much, in a non-ironic way. We don’t want to admit that we’re not distinct people with our own tastes and ideas, which we’re not, not any more. We are stubborn bitches who are always late to dinner parties. We are busy ransacking the closet for new options, and playing endless rounds of paper, rock, scissors to see who will be allowed to wear the royal blue ruffle top.

We both end up wearing shift dresses. Mine is black, yours is blue.