the friend who says "WE are so tired" (babe, only one of you worked)

Marisol has not had an independent thought since October. Every opinion she owns now arrives pre-approved by a man named Trevor, a man none of us have met, a man who apparently has STRONG feelings about tile grout. She RSVP'd yes to Galentine's on February 3rd. She cancelled on February 13th at 5:47pm. Reason given: "date night." It's the night before Valentine's. That's not date night, Marisol. That's just Tuesday with a candle.

the "we" of it all

Let's start with the pronoun crisis, because it is the load-bearing wall of this entire complaint.

Marisol texted the group chat at 11:02pm: "ugh WE are so exhausted this week." We? Trevor works from home doing something with "crypto and consulting" that has never once produced a paycheck we can verify. YOU are a nurse. YOU did four twelve-hour shifts. Trevor took a nap at 2pm and called it "recharging for the grind." The tiredness is not a joint bank account. You cannot pool fatigue. There is no "we" who is tired — there is you, and there is a man who watched three hours of a podcast about seed oils.

She does this with everything now:

• "we're not really drinking this month" (you had two margaritas last Thursday, we were there, we have PHOTOS)
• "we love a slow morning" (Trevor loves a slow morning, you were already at work)
• "we're thinking of getting into pickleball" (Trevor bought one paddle and it's still in the box)

The word "we" used to mean the group chat. Now it means Marisol and a shadow. We miss the old "we." Bring back OUR we. This is a hostile pronoun takeover and we did not approve the merger.

the grout heard round the world

Here is the receipt I will be reading at her wedding.

We were talking about literally nothing — someone asked where to get good tacos — and Marisol replied, unprompted, at 9:14pm: "omg Trevor actually thinks the sanded grout is a mistake in most kitchens, he's SO right about this."

Nobody. Asked. About. Grout.

We were three sentences deep into a conversation about carnitas and this woman detonated a man's opinion on cementitious tile filler directly into the group chat. Trevor has a take on grout. Trevor has never had a take on our birthdays, our breakups, or the time Priya's landlord tried to keep her deposit — but the GROUT? The grout gets a TED talk.

And it's always "he's so right about this." About the grout. About the thermostat. About which brand of oat milk is "basically a scam." Marisol, you have a bachelor's degree. You once argued with a professor and WON. You do not need Trevor to license your opinions like he's the DMV of your brain.

"Trevor thinks we should skip the group trip this year and do something more 'intentional.'" — a text sent to five women who booked the Airbnb SIX MONTHS AGO

Intentional. The intention was Cabo. The intention was you. We had a whole vibe planned and now it's got a Trevor-shaped hole in it.

the galentine's crime scene, timestamped

Because I promised receipts and I am a woman of my word.

• Feb 3, 1:20pm — Marisol replies "YESSS I'm so in, I need my girls 😭" with the specific number of crying emojis that implies emotional need.
• Feb 13, 5:47pm — "hey so bad news, Trevor planned this whole date night thing for tomorrow and tonight's like our little pre-vday, I feel awful 💔"
• Feb 13, 5:51pm — Venmo request from Marisol for $14. The reservation deposit. She wanted her fourteen dollars back. She cancelled AND itemized.
• Feb 13, 6:33pm — posts a story. It's a candle and a takeout container. The caption: "he takes such good care of us 🥹"
• Feb 13, 6:34pm — the "us" again. The candle is tired too, apparently.

You didn't have a conflict, Marisol. You had a Tuesday, and you chose a man who once described your best friend as "the loud one" over the six people who drove you to urgent care at 3am when you had that reaction to the shrimp. We SAW the shrimp thing. Trevor was "busy." Trevor is always busy the way a screensaver is busy.

And look — we are HAPPY you're happy. We are thrilled. We would defend Trevor's honor if a stranger insulted his box of pickleball. But being in love is not a personality, it's a circumstance, and you have let it colonize every square inch of yours. You used to have opinions about MOVIES. Now you have opinions about grout, and they're not even yours.

come back, we saved you a seat

The bit about roasting a friend is that it only works when you'd take a bullet for her, and we would. We'd help Marisol move apartments at 6am. We'd help her move Trevor's crypto rig, even, grumbling the whole time. This is what group chats are for — the merciless, loving, permanent record. If your group chat needs a place to live, we built one at /for/group-chats, because some love needs a container and some crimes need a witness.

So this Valentine's, we're not sending Marisol flowers. We're sending her a card that says one thing on the front — "you are one person and you are tired, singular" — because affection this specific deserves stationery.

If your friend also merged with a man named Trevor and lost visitation rights to her own opinions, don't just screenshot this and scream in the chat. Make the card. Let her read it in her own voice. Singular.