If Barack Obama were your dad, you would know you shouldn't ask him for help with your government homework, but you’d do it anyway, and he would go on and on and on for so long it would be like the damn State of the Union. You wouldn't be able to escape, so you'd start keeping track of how many times he said "Let me be clear" (15).
If Oscar Isaac were your boyfriend, he'd know about your penchant for doodling people during long phone calls. You’d leave your notebook open on the kitchen counter and return later to find your sketches surrounded by speech bubbles, giving them fascinating conversations that hinted at rich inner lives.
If Oscar Isaac were your boyfriend, sometimes he’d jokingly call you his “problematic fave.”
If Sarah Paulson were your girlfriend, you’d always take your makeup off before going to bed. In fact, you’d take each other’s makeup off. As you softly wiped her face with a high-end cleanser, she’d say, “everything is so easy with you.”
If Jason Bateman were your boyfriend, you would know who exactly had wronged him, and would help him enact the occasional petty revenge. “You're…really good at this, honey,” he'd say, with mild alarm in his voice as you prepare the glitter trap.
If Ted Cruz were your husband, you’d start to see cans of soup turn up in unlikely places, like those ubiquitous garden gnomes. You’d spy a stranger in the crowd holding up a can of Chipotle Chicken and Corn Chowder, and you’d startle, and then think, “Those are NOT traditional chowder flavors!” When you’d get in an elevator, there would be a can of soup in the corner.
If Tom Hiddleston were your boyfriend, the first time the two of you got high together, you’d get uncontrollable giggles and finally blurt, “We’re Hiddlestoned.” Then you’d have a terrible moment in which he stared blankly at you and you thought you’d ruined everything before he burst out laughing and said, “I adore you.”
If Justin Bieber were my son, I would have a Cobb salad for lunch every day, and a big goblet of iced tea beside it. If the tea were sweetened or flavored in any way, I would send it back. I would never drink tap water.
If Justin Bieber were my son, I would say, "Well, then, maybe I need to speak to your manager" at least once a day.
If Misty Copeland were your girlfriend, you'd be able to hold a wall sit for eight minutes without shaking.
If Misty Copeland were your girlfriend, Lululemon stores would close instantly the moment you walked past them. They'd just drag down the curtains and put tissue paper over all the clothes and walk out into the afternoon together, eyes blinking in the sun.
If Evan Peters were your boyfriend, you guys would spend the summer outside Florence, at the Villa Medicea di Cafaggiolo. Every day you would explore the Uffizi and come back at night to hold a seance for the ghost of Eleonora di Garzia di Toledo, strangled to death with a dog leash by her jealous husband.
If Josh Hutcherson were your boyfriend, he would entertain your friends for hours, mixing cocktails like a wise bartender during Prohibition and listening intently to their tales of workplace microaggressions and bad scones.
If Mary-Louise Parker were your girlfriend, you’d laze in bed together on Sunday mornings, with just thin, jersey-cotton sheets as the only barrier between your bodies and the air, and she would read Wallace Stevens aloud to you. You’d debate the pros and cons of austerity in poetry until she said, “Honey, we’re saying the same thing,” and then kissed you through a smile.
If Mary-Louise Parker were your girlfriend, she would normally keep her
If Jenny Lewis were your girlfriend, one day you’d come home to find her painting a giant rainbow on your living room wall and you wouldn’t even be mad. “It’s beautiful,” you would say, setting down the gluten-free pizza you brought home. “No, you are,” she would reply, stroking your cheek with a wet paintbrush.
If Jenny Lewis were your girlfriend, your bangs would never need to be trimmed.