WHERE IT ALL BEGAN: “If Channing Tatum were your boyfriend, he would get you the worst birthday gifts, but he would look at you with such love that you would never care. Then he would dance for you.”
“If Stanley Tucci were your boyfriend, your dad would refer to him genially as ‘The Tooch.’ ‘Come to the house this weekend, and bring The Tooch with you.’”
“If John Cho were your boyfriend, he would love that you fancy yourself an amateur astronomer. On your birthday he would upgrade your old cheap telescope to a fancy new model with all the bells and whistles, and the two of you would spend many a clear night spying on our celestial neighbors and marveling at the exhilarating beauty of the universe. You would agree that while space presents limitless possibilities for exploration, all the private Mars missions currently in the works seem completely terrifying, not to mention rather fiscally irresponsible, and you’d prefer to stay together here on Earth. ‘It’s one thing to fly a starship in the movies,’ John Cho would say, ‘but I couldn’t enjoy it if you weren’t there with me.’”
“If Gillian Anderson were your girlfriend, she’d fully support you taking a year off work to finish that novel you’ve been saying you’ll start but never quite get around to. She’d track down a vintage typewriter for you from an old antique store and then make herself scarce for hours just to let you work in private, but always remind you to take breaks when you need them. ‘I do love your reading glasses,’ Gillian Anderson would say, as she massaged your temples, ‘but you don’t want to strain your eyes, do you?’”
“If Idris Elba were your boyfriend, he would accompany you to the comic book store every Wednesday to pick up your new issues. Your Comic Book Guy would know you both by name, but you’d be delighted when he occasionally slipped up and called you ‘Misty and Luke.’”
“If Natalie Dormer were your girlfriend, the two of you would spend sunny summer days stretched out on the grass in Hyde Park with a picnic basket full of fruit and the makings of a hearty ploughman’s lunch. You’d happily get odd tan lines on your wrists from where your hands lay entwined.”
“If Chris Evans were your boyfriend, the two of you would eventually end up owning seven dogs in total, who may or may not be named after the Avengers. You’d always wake up to someone jumping on the bed with a bark of excitement, nuzzling your ear. Sometimes it would be the dogs. Mostly it would be Chris Evans.”
“If Gwyneth Paltrow were your girlfriend, you’d get to share her wardrobe – multiple wardrobes, actually, three different walk-in closets in one house. There would be another closet that was always locked and that you’d never seen into; a closet that you occasionally heard scratching noises from, or the soft scuffling of thousands of tiny legs, but you wouldn’t think about it that much.”
“If Tom Hardy were your boyfriend, when he read your writing projects, he would text you saying ‘my heart’s just so full right now. such a talent’”
“If Cobie Smulders were your ostensibly platonic gym buddy for whom you have conflicted feelings, she would always have one stubborn lock of hair that escaped her ponytail. ‘Let me get that for you,’ you would say, and then you would use your calloused hands to slip it back under the elastic, with a curiously delicate touch. ‘Thanks, man,’ Cobie would say. ‘One of these days I’ll get it right.’”
“If Mary-Louise Parker were your girlfriend, people would start referring to casual, relaxed, possibly ostentatious movements as You-ing, instead of swanning.”
“If Oscar Isaac were your boyfriend, sometimes he’d jokingly call you his ‘problematic fave.’”
“If Nigella Lawson were your girlfriend, your sweat would smell like vanilla extract.”
“If Tom Hiddleston were your boyfriend, he would send you flowers frequently and without occasion. He would favor poppies and sweet peas, or sprays of delphiniums, or giant tubs of gladiolas. ‘Never roses,’ he’d say once, and you’d nod yes emphatically before realizing you had no idea why never roses.”
“If Stephen Colbert were your dad, he wouldn’t be able to help you with your French homework, but on your birthday he would sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you over the phone in perfect Sindarin.”
“If Serena Williams were your girlfriend, you would have a mutual agreement to never play against each other in board or video games, because it would not end well. You would instead form a formidable team and leave tears and pwnage in your wake. Your friends would be cool with this, because, I mean, she’s Serena Williams.”
“If Prince Harry were your boyfriend, he would, in secret, change his listing in your phone all the time. You’d have added him in simply as ‘H,’ but one day you’d get a text from someone called ‘Henry IX.’ And then a whole chain of them: ‘H. Balls,’ ‘Jack the Zipper,’ ‘Codpiece von Rodgerer,’ and most awkwardly of all, ‘Prince Andrew.’”
“If Justin Bieber were my son, I would always have half of a re-wrapped burrito from Chipotle in my purse, just in case someone needed it. I would be prepared for any emergency. Nothing would catch me off-guard. My center of gravity would be spread over my entire body, and the devil himself could not knock me over.”
“If Tilda Swinton were your girlfriend, she’d be pleased to loan you anything from her closet, even though nothing ever looks quite right on you and is always several inches too long. You’d try not to act like it was a big deal when Tilda showed you her old christening gown, which was woven before the Norman Conquest.”
“If Daniel Henney were your boyfriend, the two of you would be able to have entire silent conversations across a crowded room (‘oh my god can you believe this guy??’ ‘oh my god I KNOW RIGHT’) thanks in large part to his highly expressive eyebrows.”
“If LeVar Burton and Yo-Yo Ma were your dads, when you were a kid, every time you had a question about anything (‘How do you spell “loquacious”?’ ‘Do sharks sleep with their eyes closed?’), LeVar Burton would tell you to take a look, it’s in a book. And when you complained about how annoying Dad was being, Yo-Yo Ma would play a slow, sad song on the cello, and they’d laugh at you (never unkindly) as you stomped away.”
“If Julian of Norwich were your professor, you would ask her what would be on the final, and she would reply, ‘All manner of things shall be on the exam.’”
“If Hayley Atwell were your girlfriend, you would love holding hands with her. She has soft hands, but a good grip, the kind that would quell the worries in your chest. Sure, the worries would still be there. But they’d be quieter, background static to the beautiful music that is your life with Hayley Atwell.”
“If Prince were your boyfriend, you could borrow his eyeliner, though his shoes would be too small for you.”
“If Barack Obama were your dad, he would make you go camping with him every summer. Even though he has no idea how to put up a tent, he would dive in to putting it up with gusto. ‘Come on, girls!’ he’d say, ‘this tent isn’t going to put itself up!’”
“If Shakespeare’s Richard III were your coworker, he’d say things like, ‘Thanks for flagging that!’ and ‘Good catch!’ and ‘Just let me know if you need anything else from me on that front,’ and you’d know in your bones that he was imagining throwing your lifeless body down the elevator shaft.”
“If the velociraptor from Jurassic Park were your girlfriend, you would start taking trips outside the visitors’ center with her. You stepped out ahead of her, but the tip of her tail wound around your waist and you knew what she meant. Behind me.”
When they first announced The End, I commented “If The Toast Was Your Dying Girlfriend,” and it got a bunch of likes, so it seems to have resonated. I know the whole “death” thing is overkill, but I can’t be alone in feeling a real sense of mourning about this whole thing. So join me:
If The Toast(dot net) was your dying girlfriend, you’d spend every remaining day with her being a surreal mix of desperately sad and elated to just be with her.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, every day you’d hang out with her and all of your best friends, the wittiest, kindest, most thoughtful, misandriest people in existence.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, you’d be sad and scared to lose her, but she’d comfort you and make art history jokes and insist on having endless erudite debates about intersectionality in academia and Bronte/zombie fanfic and Dads and anything but the election.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, she’d catch you looking at her with your tragic Laura Dern face, and would say briskly, “Come now. No time for that! Let’s go time travel ship Nurse Jackie and Carmela Soprano,” even though she was the one who was dying.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, you’d do your best to live the rest of your life in a way that would make her proud, breathing each day deeply and fully, being the best self you could be. Those who know you would whisper sadly that you had never been quite the same since. You would know that you were better, for the knowing of her.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, you would know that some things are too witches for this dreary world.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, she’d spend long periods resting in bed. People would try and get her out in the garden for some fresh air. You’d know that she’ll get up when she sees something worth getting up for.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend, you’d lead your friends in a celebratory drink to her life. ‘A willing foe’, you’d say, raising your glass. ‘And sea room’.
Oh boy, this made me teary!
Holy shit.
Oh thank goodness I’m at home right now and not at work. My heart!! That will be my new toast, forever.
oh my god
oh my god
that was sadder than the end of that Lurlene McDaniel book with the football player who planted all those tulips on the field
(and that was really sad)
(I was 14)
Readers, I cried.
Let me whisper my last goodbyes 🙁
If The Toast were your dying girlfriend, you would find her one day in the library, sitting among the countless cushions with piles of bookmarked and half-open novels strewn all around (but orderly). She is reading a book of poetry and she is crying but smiling. When you go to comfort her, she nestles her face into your neck and you feel her tears in your hair as you hold her tightly. When she pulls back, she looks you in the eyes and smiles sadly. “The world is so beautiful and so ugly. I am so happy that I have been a part of it.” Then, somehow, she starts to glow from within with an otherworldly light, so bright that your eyes begin to ache and you can’t stand it. You look away, and when you look back she is gone. The room smells of sandalwood and chicken soup. When you look through the books, you find that she has bookmarked them all at the parts where characters first say, “I love you.” You straighten the cushions, and you straighten your back, and you walk confidently out into the world, a single tear on your cheek.
;____;
My cat just came to find out why I was sniffling and choking back sobs.
If the Toast were your dying girlfriend, near the end, when she still had a little strength left, she’d catch your wrist with an unexpected iron grip and growl, “Do not, I repeat, do not do some kind of fucked-up Viking funeral type thing where you leap onto the burning boat as it moves away from the dock. I fucking forbid it.” You put on your best who-me face, casually covering up the Grandpa’s-Zippo-lighter-shaped lump in your jeans and hoping that she didn’t notice the brand-new running shoes that you’re wearing.
I put this in the open thread so forgive the reposting:
If the Toast was your dying girlfriend, she would write a letter for you to read after she was gone, demanding a solemn promise that you would wait to read it until the first time you found yourself laughing and then feeling guilty because you were in mourning and it didn’t feel right. The letter would begin “Oh honey, forgive yourself. Laughter is not the enemy of grief.” Then, a full page of “Inside Jokes, in order of insideness.” Finally there would be a small, brightly colored envelope, marked “when next you are lonely.” Inside: Two Monks Invent the Afterlife.
STOPPPP
Did not ever think the Two Monks would make me cry. But there you have it.
Oh, this is too much. I think I need a hug.
If The Toast were your dying girlfriend, you’d reflect on how much you loved her and how you just being around her made your like yourself a little more.
Copying mine over from Open thread too because I’m PROUD OF IT DAMMIT.
If the Toast was your dying girlfriend, you’d make her a comforting mix CD. It would be half powerful intersectional feminist anthems, the other half dirtbaggy 70s rock, showtunes (Side 1 of Hamilton ONLY, please), and bubblegum pop. It moves her to get up and dance. But the last track is medieval liturgical chanting, and a heavy mood settles as you listen. As the song ends, she opens her mouth to say something. You lean in to listen, thinking your heart cannot possibly take another serious conversation about death. “You know,” she says, “this particular chant was not widely known outside northern France until the late 1600s, but the language is that of a much earlier period in coastal Ireland. It’s actually a really interesting story, how the tradition made its way over via an order of traveling monks in fishing villages…” You let her rest her head on your shoulder as she continues.
Okay, this was the one that made me teary.
Mhm, real tears now.
I CAN’T READ THIS AT WORK
If the Toast was your dying girlfriend, you wouldn’t get any work done for the last few months as the end draws near because you’ve been spending all of your time with her, and you wouldn’t regret a thing.
If The Toast were your dying girlfriend, you’d stay by her side as individual friends came in and out of the room to say their farewells. When the door swung open, you’d hear snatches of conversation from the front room, where the larger pool of people waiting their turn or, turn done, reluctant to say goodbye, were gathered. “‘So here at last, friends, on the shores of Middle Earth…'” “Oh don’t, Tolkien at a time like this, it’s trite and I’m going to lose it.” “Hey, remember that party where IcebergMama…” “Oh my GOD, and then the deleted commenter said…” “Did you ever make that recipe?” “Yeah, except I added a little creme fraiche, because it keeps the whipped cream from breaking–” “–wait, creme fraiche can do that? Lemme write this down.” “…did my first deadlift and I felt like a BEAST.” Parties at The Toast’s house always turned into the best wide-ranging conversations, even when they were theme parties about Confused Monks or Western Canon or children’s stories, and you know that’s what you’ll all miss the most.
The Toast would turn to you as the latest friend slipped out and say, simply, “I’ll miss this. I’ll miss them. But listen: They’re still going to find one another.” “Not all in one place,” you’d protest. “Not where it’s easy to gather.” “No,” she’d say, looking out the window. “But they’ll have each other, and that’ll have to be enough.”
BLUB.
{I’m not crying, dammit]
Ok that last part got me right in the feels and I am an ice queen.
I’m now sobbing.
If The Toast was your dying girlfriend she’d ask you to bring her a sewing needle and then joke that “it’s toooo heavy.”
Thank you! This pre-funeral was getting to be too weepy for me.
You’re welcome! I tried to come up with a heartfelt one but I just don’t do that as well as silly humor.
Well, now we’re all going to have to make Little Women jokes in the last Open Thread (the last Open Thread).
The last Open Thread that will never, ever end!
If The Toast were your dying girlfriend, you would set up the hammock in the shady part of the backyard on a sunny summer afternoon. You would tuck her into a nest of pillows and quilts — she’s never warm enough these days — including the quilt you made for her but never quite finished and now you might never finish it. You would read out loud to her while she drifted, with the birds chattering and a light breeze blowing, and it wouldn’t even bother you when she fell asleep in the middle of the chapter. You can think of one hundred ways in which you are a better person just for knowing her, and you can’t think of a single thing you have ever done for her, and you are so grateful that you can give her this moment.
Later, after her nap, you would hold her hand and make a wish together as the evening star appeared, even though you know your wish won’t come true.
I made it this far and God damn it my heart it’s full of feelings now
I’ve read this entire thread, and now I’m sobbing my eyes out.
I’d totally forgotten about Shakespeare’s RIII, and emailed it to my husband (“HOW DID I MISS THIS???”) and immediately noticed that not only did I not miss it, I had the very first comment on the post. Ah, memory, such a fickle thing.
I did actually miss it, so I am glad that it has been brought to my attention.
My favorite things about this series, other than the beautiful writing, is the wistfulness and the glimpses into tiny personal definitions of joy.
YES! Tiny personal definitions of joy – That’s why this series makes me so happy, but I couldn’t find the words.
“tiny personal definitions of joy,” yes, heck yes, exactly!
“If Stanley Tucci Were Your Boyfriend” is perfection, plain and simple.
I can’t believe I forgot about that one! I’m going to be spending a lot of time today re-reading.
In my head I refer to the Tooch and my other two faves as the Holy Trinity of this series, but am slightly ashamed of that because they are all about men.
Fantasy men are the best men.
Seriously. They are harder to write because you’re trying not to fall into patriarchal/capitalist patterns, and you’re aiming for egalitarianism, but that usually means they’re SUPER fun and creative.
The Internet’s Boyfriend will never disappoint you.
UNLIKE OTHERS
I basically only watch press-tour interviews now if other people recommend them, because I want to avoid the sudden and inevitable betrayal for as long as possible. I’m looking at you, Martin Freeman.
Thanks! imma miss your gif game.
:'(
This one made me seriously wistful for other lives led. May we all have a Tooch of our own.
I am unashamed to admit that I reread “If Natalie Dormer Were Your Girlfriend” on an almost-weekly basis, because it is the most perfect and reminds me of my fiancee.
I’m still waiting for her to get me a wombat stuffie named Rossetti, though.
IT’S SO GOOD. It’s the one I most want to see made into a movie.
They’d have to drag me out of the theatre in a swoon if they ever did, but also I’d see every single showing.
That’s my favorite of them all. Marry me, Natalie Dormer.
All my hopes and dreams in a single post. I have most of these saved to re-read on the bad days.
All of these have brought me so much joy. And oddly enough it made me appreciate all the things I love about my fiance. Thank you The Toast Dot Net.
The Gwyneth Paltrow one is perfect creepypasta and should be venerated unto the heat-death of the universe.
Yes, this. It is Jackson-level.
The Tooch!
Oh man, no quote from the Daniel Radcliffe one?! Even though I am entirely neutral on him as an actor/human, I adored him as an imaginary boyfriend, and still think about him quietly making spaces for my future novel on bookstore shelves sometimes.
No love for the Kristen Stewart one? I think of that as the prototype, even though it came after Channing Tatum. The big coffee!
She’d have her own strange way of ordering things in coffee shops as a result of having grown up with having things brought to her by assistants. That’s not the way she wanted things to be; it’s just a reality of being an actress. “I’ll have the big coffee,” she’ll say, and you’ll start giggling irresistibly, not because you think less of her for it, but because you’ve never heard that particular turn of phrase before and somehow it makes you love her slightly more. “What?” she’ll say, turning to you but unable to conceal the grin spreading itself over her mouth. “I want the big coffee!”
“I want you to have to the big coffee too, babe,” you’ll say as you wrap your arms around her and move towards the counter together. “Two of the big coffees, please,” you’ll tell the cashier.
Reading “If Kristen Stewart were your girlfriend” took me to the floor for this series and I can’t get back up and don’t want to
I’m prettttttttyyyyy sure that the Kristen Stewart one made me realize that I’m bi (or, like, at least name it.)
Daydreamy if X were your Y — who were you always hoping would get the IF X treatment?
I always hoped there would be a “if Neko Case were your girlfriend” but Jenny Watson came pretty close.
Yes!! I was writing little liner notes on a few of the tracks on my Toast Mix CD, and my comment on Neko Case and her solitary witch life/inherent smart-ass Toastie-ness was in danger of rapidly turning into an essay.
I love her so, so much (and would love to hang out with her and her rescue greyhounds on her farm in NE Vermont)
Chelsea V. Peretti.
‘If the velociraptor from Jurassic Park were you girlfriend’ may not be my favourite post ever (though it almost certainly is), but it’s definitely the post that made me feel most intimately and somewhat uncomfortably understood.
“A nudge on your arm, a nod down at the dish. She left you two steaks.”
*sigh*
I just read this one and holy crap it was good!! I think I held my breath until they curled up together at the end. As one commenter said on the original piece
If Harrison Ford Were Your Boyfriend is my favorite, because it’s a fairly accurate depiction of life with my actual boyfriend.
How have I not read all of these?! If Julian of Norwich were your professor sounds like my perfect piece. I truly love all of the Toast content about monks, nuns and mystics.
Daniel Radcliffe? Where is Daniel Radcliffe?
The Bieber one was the best. But so many great ones!
I’m going to miss this series SO MUCH, but at least I’ll have my imaginary polyamorous relationships with Natalie Dormer, Gillian Anderson, Hayley Atwell, and Tom Hardy to console me.
One of the best things about this series, other than the content, is that it demonstrates the subjunctive mood isn't dead.
Oh! My heart!~ ( ; _ 😉
still screaming over the Trump one tho
screaming 4ever
Wasn’t it Cruz? With the soup?
OH RIGHT you are so right
how could I have forgotten!!
Gotta go back and reread, apparently.
But not now. Bout to go see Finding Dory, and don’t wanna spoil the mood with creepypasta
Inspired by this series, I started writing “If David Bowie were your lover” and then he died so I did too. Inside.