Hey buddy. It’s me, Grog. Yeah, the little turtle by the bridge who saw you walking through the botanical gardens with your date. Oh, you little rockstar. You think your rizz is impeccable, huh?
You think you looked so cute, walking that dirt path with your overpriced Lollicup boba concoctions and your aesthetically-scuffed-but-not-too-scuffed Air Force Ones. So modelesque! So Insta-chic!
You were throwing around the goofiest lines: “this garden is pretty, but you’re prettier,” “that black tea you ordered really brings out your eyes!” I had to go back into my shell whenever you opened your mouth.
I’ll be getting back to the water now – and don’t try to take an artsy Instagram pic of me and my friends to tag your date in. I guarantee they’ll be out with a cooler indie kid at the Hammer Museum by the time all seven of your followers view your story.
If you ever go on another date, please don’t come back here. Go bother literally any of my other friends! Maybe the Sculpture Garden squirrels or the Sunset Village cats can witness you trying to cozy up to whatever poor soul is feeling empty enough to waste a dinner swipe and nighttime walk with you.