The time has come for the realest of talks, ladies. Scrubs: they are everywhere. Scrubs: upon first glance, they’re indistinguishable from the common human male. Scrubs: your man might be one of them right now. Sure, you checked his tags and asked him if he was a scrub in your Serious Voice when you first got him, but you need to know for sure. Here are a few simple tips for determining just how scrubby your man may be:
- If he folds the laundry into an elaborate tableau of a woman (whose face eerily resembles yours) being consumed by a sea of knives, then insists that “it was the natural form the laundry took” when you ask him about it: your man is a scrub.
- If he is unable to protect you from the knowledge that someday Death will erase all memory of your name from human language: your man is a scrub.
- If you cut him and he does not bleed but instead deflates, emitting a poisonous miasma that freezes the heart of all it touches while he spins into some other nightmarish dimension: your man is a scrub.
- If he cannot keep himself from aging: your man is a scrub.
- If all of his furniture is office furniture: your man is a scrub.
- If he cannot shield himself from enchantment and you are forced to care for him in raven form for seven years: your man is a scrub.
- Ravens are disgusting. You should not have to put up with that.
- I think it’s the glossy stiffness of their bodies – like they’re all automatons trying and failing horribly to ape natural bird behavior – that creeps me out the most. “Oh, hello, you are a true living bird whose flesh does not conceal a black and smoking nest of circuitry and cursed rivets? We share that in common, you and I.”
- Plus their eyes. There’s something not right about a raven’s eyes.
- Do not get me started on crows.
Take a moment to say your farewells. Look him deeply and fully in the eyes, then push him out to sea. Be gentle but firm. “This is goodbye,” you’ll have to tell him as he begins to shout in shock and anger. “I’m sorry, too.” Wait until his flailing body becomes a dot on the horizon, then treat yourself to some soft-serve. You’ve earned it.
