Below is a list of things I would do if other things were true.
I am deeply troubled by the allegations that I recently walked 10 blocks in the wrong direction while looking at Twitter on my phone. If that’s true, then I would be a poor fit for New York City and also adult life and should quickly move back in with my parents.
If it’s determined to be true that I currently have $350 in my bank account, which is what my bank account says, then I should immediately stop buying lunch at Chipotle every day—absolutely. I’ll await the committee’s findings before doing anything hasty, but I’ll respect the results of the investigation.
I have been disturbed by the recent and also ancient allegations that my last name means “be quiet” in Hebrew. I have been told this by my parents, my Hebrew school teacher, Google translate, and every Jew I have ever met, but although I take these allegations very seriously, I think it’s important to wait for the facts to come out.
If reports are accurate that there is a small framed poster of Ashley Parker Angel above my desk, that would be outrageous, and I would certainly tear it into tiny pieces and set the fragments on fire.
If allegations are true that I regularly pick my nose when alone and stick the boogers under my bedside table until the underside of that table is covered in tiny mucus stalactites, that would be horrific, and certainly embarrassing in the event of any unexpected guests.
I’m hearing reports that this shirtless man on Tinder whose bio says “swipe left if u can’t handle a guy with opinions!!” is not a great fit for me, but I’ll believe it when I hear it from the horse’s mouth.
I am appalled by recent allegations that Joanna Rothkopf is weirdly good at barre class, but I believe in a presumption of innocence until proven guilty—and simply witnessing Joanna Rothkopf doing the splits in barre class isn’t akin to substantiation.
If media reports that my dog took an enormous dump on your carpet while you and I were both looking right at him are to be believed, then of course both my dog and I would lock ourselves in his crate as punishment, but who is to know?
I am horrified by the possibility that I quietly farted many, many times while sitting in between Kelly Stout and Kate Dries, but I have not had an opportunity to review the specifics, so will need to withhold judgment at this time.
If true that I hogged the mic at my friend’s karaoke birthday party, and in fact sang so many songs that I was the last person in the room while a nice man turned on the lights and began clearing our glasses, that would be unacceptable behavior—but I’d need to know who your sources are.