They say that ignorance is bliss.
I didn’t know, for example, what kind of butt I actually deserved. In fact I didn’t even know that this was something I needed to know, so life was going well.
But then I saw a BuzzFeed post titled “What Kind of Butt Do You Actually Deserve?” and I immediately needed to know. How else was I going to carry on with my day, get my work done or act as a functioning member of society otherwise?
So I started to take the quiz.
First question: Where does your butt belong?
I had six options:
My butt belongs on a…wait. I don’t want it on a private jet — those things are unsafe. A museum would be boring. A pedestal implies ego. No stage; if I have stage fright than surely my butt does. Thrones seem uncomfortable and “floating in a pool” just sounds morbid, not fancy, so next question please. This one’s a pass.
Slap Your Own Butt. What Happens?
After skipping two questions because I couldn’t handle them yet, I landed on this one and slapped my own butt. Nothing happened. I wish glitter happened but it didn’t. The closest thing that “happened” is my butt jiggled, I SUPPOSE, but flawlessly? No BuzzFeed. That’s Beyoncé-baiting, and I wanted the answer to feel organic. I wanted all my answers to feel organic to reflect who I truly was so that I could know, once and for all, what butt I actually deserved!
This was like taking the SATs all over again.
I’ve always been really bad at tests. I over-think the questions to the point of agony. For me there is no right or wrong because my brain just has to consider the gray area. The stupid “what ifs.” The nagging possibilities, the theoretical.
If Suzy has ten apples and then a rabbit eats three, how many apples does Suzy have left?
Well for one, consider the physical impossibilities of a rabbit eating THREE whole apples. That would make any human sick, let alone a rabbit, so this scenario seems highly unlikely. Maybe she lost the apples on her way home from the co-op and is afraid to tell her mom so she lied. But let’s say a gluttonous rodent did consume that much produce — does Suzy still technically have those three apples if she captures the fool before he poops?
You can imagine how stressful it was for me to attempt the “Which Baby-Sitter Are You?” quiz considering I consumed those books the way the Internet eats up these questions. Right off the bat I was asked to chose a PIXAR movie, which seems A) unrelated and B) like a completely irrelevant point of conversation since Dawn likes to hike and Claudia probably only watched art flicks.
To find out if I am either Tegan or Sara, I’d have to select my favorite place in Canada. Well guess what BuzzFeed? I have never been, so how am I even supposed to answer that question??!?
What makes me sad is that I really, really want to participate. I want to know what Girls character I am! Am I Elijah? Charlie? And I want to find out if New York City is right for me. Or if I’m better off in London.
But until my crippling quiz anxiety lowers its ugly head I’ll just be sitting here, confused, unsure of what sandwich best represents me and wondering if Suzy ever made it home with her apples.
Image via DSquared2 Fall 12 Campaign