My first mistake was that my mum and dad were happily married.

But I tried my best to fix that. When I turned fourteen, rather than turning my efforts to breaking them up, I begun referring to my dad as “Steve” and told people he was my mother’s estranged cousin who needed a place to stay after losing all his money on a pyramid scheme (he was a personal finance advisor and did not appreciate my cover story one bit).

After school, I tried to find a new step-dad, someone different from the suit-wearing, intelligent type my mum usually likes. A regular guy, with a variety of baseballs caps and a single flannel shirt; a guy from the woods. Except it didn’t go as planned since he then kidnapped my mum and dragged her into the woods after I’d told him she would be alone at home and that “she is very excited to start a future” with him.

I struggled to achieve the same words-per-minute talking speed as Lorelai and after a year of trying every single trick, including just putting one word after another and hoping nobody would notice that little of what I said made sense, I had to look for other ways to enhance my performance. Luckily I was still in contact with my mum’s kidnapper, which was a bit challenging since he was in the jail, but he revealed his secret to talking like someone who is on speed 24/7: Speed!

Thanks to my newly acquired need for a speed supplier, I finally found my bad-boy boyfriend. He also cooked meth on the side and almost blew me up once or twice while I was asleep. I am not sure if he got any of my literary references but he did write margin notes on my books which may have been details about people who owed him money. I could be convicted as an accomplice but that’s something Rory never achieved. Who has spent more nights in prison, Rory?

One July day I figured out exactly how much coffee Lorelai and Rory drink on the show (thanks Reddit!). Looking back, it might not have been the best idea to start the coffee and the speed habit at the same week. Quite quickly, I had to seek a doctor to help me to overcome my addictions. The doctor happened to be a young, blonde woman in her first year of residency and I immediately decided to befriend her. To my disappointment, she was a social butterfly, loved her drink, danced like Beyoncè, and had a plethora of sexual partners. Also, she did not enjoy me trying to call her “Paris” and pretty soon stopped answering my hourly phone calls. I still text her so I have a message thread with “Paris” on my phone that I can gaze at during the lonely nights in my holding cell.

In 2008 people don't really appreciate ads on Craigslist that are “looking for an Asian friend, female, preferably a drummer and who has a strict Korean mother and has been part of many unsuccessful arranged marriage deals.” I never got serious responses, and the Chinese restaurant where I left my posters always threw me out without an explanation why. The waiter there was my backup plan, so that was ruined too.

After all these shortcomings, ten years later, I am writing this from my rooftop lodge in Soho. I am a successful author and Netflix just purchased the rights to my autobiography, The True Mother-Daughter Story Of The Century: Making A Kidnapper. I am engaged and I have a contraceptive implant.

My mum and dad are still together.

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