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Home: The Toast

carrie1Lindsay King-Miller’s previous work for The Toast can be found here.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d make up little songs about whatever she was doing around the house, like “The Scrambled Eggs Blues” or “Gotta Get A New Vacuum.” Sometimes she’d even make up a dance to go with the song, throwing in one of those awesome power kicks. She’d toss the songs off like they were nothing, but they’d be super catchy and you’d find yourself humming them days later while making a sandwich, and she’d notice and you’d both laugh.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, your apartment would be slightly messier than it is now, but it would somehow look better that way, kind of artsy and homey and bohemian and cool. There would be musical instruments leaning in corners, a few impossibly stylish pieces of clothing tossed over chairs, the occasional empty coffee cup on a windowsill, but your place would look like it just came from being profiled in a decorating magazine, even though you’d still never get around to sweeping.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she would understand and share all your trashy-TV guilty pleasures and never ever mention them to anyone.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, your cats wouldn’t just love her, they’d love each other. They’d curl up between you and Carrie Brownstein in bed, no hissing or posturing, just warmth and softness. They’d constantly be head-butting each other out of the way in order to snuggle with her, but they’d never come to blows about it. Somehow she would never get cat hair on her clothes.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, people would stop giving you so much crap for being slow to return phone calls. Not because you’d be any better at remembering you have a phone; people would just be more forgiving about it. “She’s dating Carrie Brownstein,” they’d say. “She obviously has lots of important things to do besides checking her missed calls.”

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, you’d finally learn to like black coffee. You’d sit together drinking it in your just-the-right-amount-cluttered breakfast nook (obviously you and Carrie Brownstein would get a place with a breakfast nook) on Saturday mornings, putting off making brunch because you’re enjoying talking to each other so much. When you went to coffeeshops to write, instead of the embarrassing sugary concoctions you order now, you’d get your caffeine fix from an Americano and the baristas would be impressed by your sophistication. In fact, the cute barista with the glasses would be so into your Americano-drinking ways that she would want to date you, but of course you couldn’t date her because you’re already dating Carrie Brownstein.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, you could pull off bangs.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, her amazing musical partnership with Corin Tucker would inspire you to get along better with your exes, or at least stop hanging on to those last lingering shreds of bitterness and resentment. You’d run into your ex at the farmer’s market some morning and you’d smile and say “Good to see you!” and you’d really mean it. You wouldn’t even feel the need to casually mention the fact that you’re dating a rock star now. She’d find out on Facebook soon enough anyway.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d ask your opinion when she was working on a new song or a new sketch. “Do you like this?” she’d say, with that look of slight trepidation in her eyes that lets you know she really cares what you think – she isn’t just asking to be nice. She’d take whatever you said to heart, sometimes revising a chorus or a joke over and over just to make sure you really, really loved it.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d let you borrow her awesome clothes, but she’d never let you embarrass yourself. Let’s be honest: there are some looks that Carrie Brownstein can pull off because she is a rock star, that ordinary mortals like yourself could never get away with. She wouldn’t let you leave the house wearing those things, but she wouldn’t be mean about it. She’d just say something like, “That skirt you wore last week looked so sexy on you. I bet it would be perfect with that blouse,” and she’d be right, so you’d change and feel totally hot and amazing.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, you’d always be able to find jeans in your size, even at thrift stores.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d make you laugh all the freaking time, obviously. She’d have a character that she only ever did for you, and it would crack you up without fail, no matter what you were doing. And every time, when you finally got yourself under control again, she’d be gazing at you so intently, and you’d blush a little and say “What?” and she’d say “You’re so beautiful when you’re laughing.”

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, you wouldn’t ever get quite enough sleep, because you’d stay up way too late talking about books and art and politics and the perfect little cottage on the beach you’re going to share when you retire until you eventually drifted off in each other’s arms. You’d wake up still a little tired but incredibly happy, with a small smudge of her lipstick on your ear.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d let you rant about bi invisibility as much as you wanted and never ever point out that you’re saying the same thing over and over and anyway, she already agrees with you. “I know, babe,” she’d say. “That’s such a good point.”

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, she’d be better than you at Scrabble but not so much better that it’s embarrassing to play with her. You’d even win occasionally. You’d always suspect that she was letting you win, but she wouldn’t be super obvious about it.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, you wouldn’t go on tour with her because she respects that you have your own life and your own ambitions, but you’d fly out to meet her somewhere warm and stay in a hotel room where she sprawls across the whole bed and tells you stories of all the weird people she’s met on the road this time and how much she’s missed you and how she can’t wait to come home and curl up with your cats. Then she’d ask what’s new with you, even though you’ve talked on the phone every day that she’s been gone, and she’d listen and ask follow-up questions and be so fascinated by everything you say that you almost believe your life is as exciting as hers. In the morning, she’d take you out for brunch, because no matter what city you’re in she would always know where to get the best eggs Benedict and mimosas, and she’d stare into your eyes across the table and tell you again that she couldn’t wait to come home.

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