Nothing, and what an awkward opening statement that was. You know who would not have liked it? Miranda Hobbes. She is a grammatical force to be reckoned with; a lawyer with no time for poetic license. Prose for the sake of humor, I am afraid, does not hold up in the court of law.
And neither do I! The only time I have ever attempted to fulfill my civic duties, I cried before the jury committee and got promptly kicked off for acting unstable. Perhaps you can already foreshadow that my week spent as one Miranda Hobbes was a challenge (addendum: the other three women will be attempted by both Leandra and myself in the weeks that follow) but Miranda Hobbes and her ovaries are not quitters. Therefore, I’m not either.
More than anything, I want to make little Brady proud.
I began my week in a pantsuit. It felt appropriate to pair with the blunt statements and quick judgements that I was quick to work into my vocabulary. There is no picture of me in said suit because Miranda would never cave to suck vain and frivolous whims. No Snapchat for Miranda! No Instagram. There was no sympathy to those who texted, “I think he likes me, but,” either. “He does not,” I typed back. Then, even though I did so via text, I slammed my home phone back into the receiver — just like Hobbes — for good measure.
Total friends lost after two days of the above actions: 50, which is excellent. According to the book of Miranda, I only need 3.
Wednesday, I decided, was going to be my Casual Errands Miranda day. I had a choice between two iconic Miranda looks, both of which make one wonder if Patricia Field had a vendetta against Cynthia Nixon. I present to the court Exhibit A:
And exhibit B:
I went with Exhibit B for a few reasons: 1) Though this episode pre-dates it, this look is very Jil Sander Fall 2011. 2) You just don’t get enough excuses to look like Dana Carvey impersonating a turtle in the real world — gotta take every shot you can get. And 3) Even though I hate bucket hats, I love an indoor mug outside. It feels rebellious. Hence Hobbes’ smirk.
On Thursday I left work early to adopt a cat. Miranda’s cat is named Fatty, so I named my cat Beautiful — partially because my apartment is a body-positive one, but also because a cat named “Beautiful” is less likely to eat my face out of malice should I die suddenly.
If you aren’t recalling the episodes I’m referencing you must have literally zero idea as to what I’ve been going on about thus far.
On Friday, after a day spent kicking ass at my law office and subsequently getting kicked out because I do not work at a law office, I put on my fanciest dress and earrings and heels and strutted down a street in Manhattan to the soundtrack that’s never not playing in my mind.
Obviously I was going to meet the only three best friends I had left for a drink. Cosmos — what else? Just kidding. Miranda Hobbes 100% drinks scotch.