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 Tina said, “Um, maybe you haven’t heard or something, but that’s my house again too!”

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.

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