The Sponsor Wears Prada

A list of things that Simon, my sponsor, has said to me since we started working together:

“I want you to relapse so that I can go to meetings and talk about it and get sympathy.”

“I’m in New York for a little Gucci, a little Barneys; you know, the essentials.”

“What are you going to do? Whore at me?”

“That thing you do—what’s it called, compassion? I don’t do that.”

“You need to change your online dating profile to say, ‘Seeking active alcoholic with no interest in recovery,’ because that’s all you’re ever going to get.”

“Do you have any idea how many people have touched the cheese samples at Whole Foods? And you ate one? You’re going to die.”

“Are you feeding the good dog? You’re not feeding the good dog. Feed the good dog.”

“You are a terrible person. I love it.”

“I just want to control your life.”

“I probably shouldn’t be encouraging you to act like this, huh?”

“I don’t know whether I should apologize, or if you should thank me.”

“I’m the Worst. Sponsor. Ever.”

People who don’t know me will see this and naturally assume I’m going to smoke crack any moment now. Longtime readers will understand why we make such an excellent team.

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