Last night I dreamt that I was having coffee at the Planet with Bette and Tina (do not even pretend like you don’t know exactly who I’m talking about). I asked Bette where Jenny was and she said, “Oh come on, she knows you hate her.”
I was so embarrassed. I looked at both of them and said, “No, no, I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her!”
Bette leaned in, with that Julia Sugarbaker posture that she has, right before she says something serious, and said, “Well, obviously your lack of acquaintance was not a prerequisite in forming such a strong verbal opinion.” (what a Bette/Julia thing to say, don’t you think?)
Besides being a little turned on, I felt awful. I thought about how many times I had told people that I hated Jenny. But I don’t. I don’t even know her. And when I thought of her just sitting there in her poorly lit shed, writing sad and twisted carnival stories all by herself because Shane was at work cutting some rich MILF’s hair, I felt really, really bad. I asked Bette if I could catch a ride back to her place so I could go next door and talk to Jenny.
And then my alarm went off, reality started to filter back in, and I realized something:
It really is for the best that there is only one more season.