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Tom Brady's New Girlfriend Follows Me On Instagram, But I'm Not Interested

Yesterday, as rumors swirled of Tom Brady's new girlfriend, I received a flood of texts from excited friends. Apparently, she follows me on Instagram. 

This set off a wave of confusion. What does this mean? What's Veronika trying to tell me? (PS- I have a theory that anybody who spells their name with a K instead of a C is a descendant of a klansman. Karolines, Veronikas… shame on you.) 

Obviously, I had to respond. It's not every day that Tom Brady's love interest shows interest in you. But I felt very conflicted. On one hand, I have so much respect for Tom Brady's body of work that I considered ghosting her. The man is heading back to the playoffs and the last thing he needs is off-field distraction. I can't have him in the huddle wondering, "Is my new girlfriend messaging Barstool Sports heartthrob Francis Ellis?" That would break Steven Cheah, and I am very fond of Steven Cheah. 

So I wrote her this message: 

Then I stepped back and reconsidered. Look at those "suggested questions" she put in for people to send her. My first message was WAY off from what she wants people to ask her, and as I looked at it again, I realized I was being passive-aggressive and borderline smug. 

So I deleted that message and followed her cue:

I friendzoned her. Nothing says "I appreciate you as a friend" more than sharing body-building secrets. I followed that up by asking her astrological sign, even though that shit is for braindead vegetables who need voodoo magic to guide their day. Still, I wanted to ease her gently into the friend pool and let her save face. Very humane. 

But then I thought, might she misunderstand my asking her zodiac sign as an attempt to flirt? Am I being clear enough in my friendzone messaging? Probably not. So I reworked my message again, this time cranking the friendship meter to a ten:

I actually felt pretty good about this one. I used our pet name (she calls me Frandawg) and threw the ol' H-card at her. Then I asked her what she's reading, which might be the most friendship-only question you can possibly ask a woman. It's so sterile, so bland. 

But sure enough, as my finger hovered over the send button, I rush of anger came over me. Why can't she just leave me alone? I love my wife beyond measure. This was just another classic example of wanting what you can't have. Like where were you when I was single, Veronikkka? 

Nope. Not falling for it. I let her have it:

Bingo. That should leave no doubt. But just to FULLY burn the ships, to leave absolutely NO DOUBT of my integrity, I then blocked her:

I even thought about reporting her. But her overtures didn't exactly qualify as harassment or threats. And I figured I'd try to leave her with a shred of dignity. No sense in calling the Instagram cops. 

I then drank a green juice made with kale, apple, kiwi, celery, lemon, and cayenne. It wasn't great but I knew it was good for me. 

Twenty minutes later, my rage had subsided and I started to feel bad. Maybe she wasn't trying to ruin my marriage. Maybe she just thought I was funny, or she's a fan. 

Fuck. Now I had to fix it. And as I unblocked her, I realized that Instagram automatically has people unfollow you when you block them. So all of a sudden, she was no longer following me—of no fault of her own:

This made me feel terrible. Who am I to prevent a fan from enjoying my content? Looking back, I couldn't even remember how she and I had gotten into this fight in the first place. It's amazing how strongly two people can feel something one moment, and then how silly it can all seem after a few deep breaths and a green juice. The problem is that Veronika and I are so similar. We're both so stubborn. I guess that's probably what connected us in the first place—that, and our love of watching Tom Brady on Sundays. 

I offered the olive branch:

No response yet. She'll need time. 

But for now, I wish her and Tom a happy romance.