Let's Pretend This Never Happened (47 page)

The End

(Sort of)

Hi.

You’re still here, which means that you are probably the kind of person who forces your angrily impatient spouse to sit through the credits of the movie on the off chance that there might be some sort of bonus scene at the end, even though
they’re
the kind of person who jumps up three minutes before the movie even ends so that they can be the first person out of the parking lot, because
apparently
that’s more important than finding out that “Rosebud” is the name of the sled, or that
Dude, Where’s My Car?
is (spoiler alert) a terrible, terrible movie. Or perhaps you’re still reading because you think that this can’t
possibly
be the end of the book, because there’s
no way
it was worth forty-five dollars,* and you’re hoping that if you keep reading you’ll find something here that actually makes the price of the book worthwhile. Well, congratulations, tenacious and demanding malcontents,
because there totally is
.

If you’re anything like me, there is probably at least one well-known fact that you insist is basic common knowledge, but your disbelieving family scoffs at you whenever you bring it up. And so you Google it to prove them wrong, but somehow in the time that it took you to argue that “actually,
yes
, some squirrels
can
breathe underwater,” they’ve managed to somehow rewrite the entire Internet so that it looks as if water squirrels never even
existed. And then, after that, whenever you disagree with them about anything at all they automatically dismiss you with a patronizing chuckle, saying to one another, “
Yeah.
This coming from the same person who thought squirrels could breathe underwater,” and then they shake their heads with pity and refuse to even
consider
your theory about why Jesus is technically a zombie. That totally sucks. But you’re in luck, because the last page of this book will fix all of that.

Just get a pen and write in whatever fact you want to prove in the space provided, and then casually show it to your detractors in a mature and mildly condescending manner. I suggest something like “So I was just doing some light, squirrel-based reading, and
apparently
some squirrels
can
breathe underwater. I can see how you might doubt it, but it must be true BECAUSE IT’S IN A FUCKING BOOK, YOU SKEPTICAL ASSHOLE.”

You’re welcome.
I’m pretty sure that alone is worth forty-five dollars.*

*My editor just pointed out that this book will not cost forty-five dollars, and I do realize that, but when people read that the book is forty-five dollars after
they
paid only thirty-five dollars for it they’ll feel really good about what a great deal they got, even though technically they paid full price. This is how marketing works.**

**My editor just argued that “that’s not how marketing works at all,” that the
book wouldn’t cost thirty-five dollars either, and that when people hand this book to their detractors, they’ll probably just look at the cover and realize immediately that this is not a squirrel-based book at all. I explained that she was not looking at the big picture, and that we are going to have to charge thirty-five dollars in order to cover the costs of the removable dustcover identifying this book as
Squirrel-Based Facts for the Intellectually Elite. Volume 2: The Elusive Aqua Squirrel
. She then claimed that if we did that, the only people who would actually buy this book would be “the three soon-to-be-disappointed squirrel enthusiasts searching for books about squirrels
that don’t even exist
.” I reminded my publisher that squirrel researchers are an untapped market, and I pointed out that I am pretty damn sure that aqua squirrels
do
indeed exist because (1) I’ve actually seen one, and (2)
their existence is documented in a fucking book
. Then she asked which book I was referring to, and I was all,
“THIS ONE.”
I’m pretty sure this proves my point on all counts.***

***My editor says that “there is no way in hell they are going to print a book with a fake dustcover about
‘water squirrels’
just so that you can win an argument with your husband.” So I called my mom (since she was there when I was swimming with my sister in the nearby creek and witnessed an entire family of water squirrels), and she told me that she
did
remember it, but that she and my father simply hadn’t had the heart to tell an enthusiastic eight-year-old (flush with the giddy excitement of discovering the existence of water squirrels) that she was swimming with a nest of dead squirrels who were floating down the stream after having most likely drowned in the previous day’s flash flood.
Awesome.
It’s like my whole life was based on a lie. Plus, I’m pretty sure that’s how you get cholera.

True Facts

•  Milk has no discernible smell . . . at all. . . .

•  “Problemly” is a real word. (Definition: Something that will probably be a problem.) It is unchallengeable in Scrabble.

•  “Flustrated” is not a real word, and regular use of it will result in your genitals’ falling off. Problemly . . .

•  Some squirrels have gills, although this is typically noticed only by the truly observant and highly intelligent.

•  _______________________________________________________

•  _______________________________________________________

*WARNING: In an effort to save the environment, this book was made from the recycled tissues of tuberculosis patients, and should NOT be handled by persons lacking current tuberculosis vaccinations. Also, some of them had the flu. And problemly dysentery.

This is the actual holiday card we send out each year, and it’s also a special thank-you to you for listening to my story. P.S. This counts as me sending you a Christmas/Hanukkah card. You are welcome.

Acknowledgments

A HUGE thank-you goes out to all of my grandparents, assorted awesome family members, friends who’ve loaned me money for booze, and everyone who has ever said a kind word to me, or who has (intentionally or accidentally) not kicked me. I also want to thank everyone who ever read anything of mine and enjoyed it, or at least pretended to for the sake of getting to third base with that girl who tried to convince you that I’m hilarious. Thank you, and I apologize for the chlamydia.

A very special thank-you goes out to my wonderful and supportive readers, and to the people who helped make this book possible. This includes Neeti Madan, Amy Einhorn, Laura Mayes, Karen Walrond, Maile Wilson, Katherine Center, Brene Brown, Jen Lancaster, Neil Gaiman, Stephanie Wilder-Tayler, Nancy W. Kappes, Donnell Epperson, Laurie Smithwick, the Bir clan, Bonnie and Alan Davis, Wil Wheaton, everyone on Twitter who helped me write this book, Maggie Mason, Tanya Svoboda, Stephen Paroli, Alice and Eden, Evany Thomas, Heather Armstrong, Debbie Gorman, Jeanie M., Mrs. Gilly, the Menger Hotel, Diana Vilibert, the Gruene Mansion, and you. Yes,
you
. You thought I’d forget you, didn’t you? You have so little faith in me. But it’s fine.
I forgive you.

And my deepest thanks and love go out to Mom and Dad, who taught
me everything I know about compassion and bobcats, and to my sister, for laughing both with me
and
at me. And most especially to my daughter, Hailey, who saves my life every day, and to my husband, Victor, whom I love even more than I want to strangle.
Thank you for giving me a life worth writing about.

Family portrait ~ 2005.

About the Author

Author Jenny Lawson relaxes at home. Her husband glares off camera and asks whether that’s his toothbrush. Her husband should probably get his priorities straight. And go get her a margarita. Even if it’s three a.m. Seriously, Victor, go get me a margarita. Also, the people who published this book probably shouldn’t have let the author write her own biography. Poor planning on their part, I’d say.