why do rich kids always look like their family tree is a circle?

(thanks for the venmo, dumb bitch.)

girl.
honestly,
i was relieved.
i took one look at you,
and was like;
damn—
for real, why does
“my dad owns property”
always come with a face
that screams recessive gene speedrun?

oh thank god, that’s the girl?
the “omg hiiiiiii”

yooooooo
please. take him.
you looked like someone who’d actually pretend to like him.

and you did.
baby—
you sent venmo
to my husband
while i was pregnant.
like you were sponsoring a rescue animal.
and baby—he was the raccoon.
and you were the trash.

and the worst part?
you were so mid
i didn’t even register you at first.
i thought,
”not with that face.
not with that voice.”
but then?
ping. ping. ping.
calls. facetime. lil texts.
venmo.

???????
girl.
god damn.
truly—
never seen this shit in the wild.
only hear about it on animal planet.
like y’all really exist.

and girl.
i did your math in 3 seconds.
i just didn’t care.
because from the minute i saw your
ski-trip selfies and gap-year side part,
i knew you weren’t why he was cheating.
emotionally, physically, how the fuck ever.
he just needed someone with no taste and no boundaries
to let him pretend he was still impressive.

you fit the job.

baby,
buy some self-respect.

your brain still register embarrassment?
truly humiliating chronology—
never in the marriage.
just cc’d on the emotional handjobs.

and girl—
you really made it

like life policies in
the 19th biggest city
made it.
girl.
cut the shit.
even your daddy’s last name couldn’t carry that flop.

a whole ass adult whose entire identity
was “i went to columbia”
and “my dad knows a guy.”

and baby—
if you think this is about jealousy,
let me clarify:
you’re not the type anyone envies.
you’re the girl they pity,
then forget,
then re-meet three times without realizing it.

and he loved that about you.

you had the money.
(he loved that more)
the degree.
the networking events.
and still—
you couldn’t even make “insurance sales” stick
in a mid-tier city
with your daddy’s contacts behind you.

jesus christ.
boring. standard. uninspired.
the walking embodiment of what happens
when generational wealth forgets to mix the gene pool.

congrats,
babe.
you really proved the theory:
you’re living proof that evolution isn’t about fitness—
it’s about who had the most cousins on the marriage roster.
natural selection took one look and said,
“nah, let her through. we need a control group.”

you’re not survival of the fittest.
you’re an evolutionary mutation producing a mid with a trust fund.

but i mean

fuck it—
thanks for the venmo.

congrats.
you bought access to a man i was begging to leave me alone.