Surprise, bitch. I’m your big.

Yeah that’s right. It’s me.

I saw your little Instagram story, how you couldn’t believe how “cute” it was that your Big made you wear a onesie to your 10 AM Sex, Markets, and Vegetables lecture. Well guess what, “Little:” I just wanted you to look like one dumb motherfucker. But you know what? I’ll let that one story slide. Why? Because I’m such a kind and loving Big. But don’t expect me to be so lenient in the future.

If you go so far as to utter the words “I haven’t met my big yet, but I already love her!” to your friends while you wait for your chicken wrap in the Pauli Murray dining hall, I will fuck you up. I sure as hell don’t love you. I’m just doing this shit because Katie’s dad is flowing with internships. If you tell every rando that throws a couple of T-shirts on your bed you love them, you got a pretty sad future. And I don’t want you to have a sad future because when my Little is sad, I am sad too.

And don’t you expect me to wrap myself up in a box for you so you can open me like a present. They only box you’ll see me in is Box 63, and if you see me in Box, do not fucking look at me. If I catch a single whiff of your stinky-ass Adidas Superstars, I will go apeshit and put your ass in a box 11 feet in the ground. And I sure hope it won’t come to that because when you’re dead, I will miss you deeply because we share an undeniable bond of love as a Big-Little pair.

Can’t wait to meet you at the reveal! XOXO

– H. Rubin