Knock-knock. It’s your new landlord. You, Zendaya’s 2019 Met Gala red carpet moment, have been living rent-free in my mind for months now. I’ll be sitting on the toilet, and I’ll think of that stunning, floor-length Cinderella-inspired ball gown. Oh, honey. Sometimes when I’m having my morning oatmeal, I’ll think of how no one else could pull off that Tommy Hilfiger original. I gag. Every night when I lay down and close my eyes, you pop up, uninvited. Well, I’m done dealing with squatters. As owner of this mind, it’s time you start paying up so that I don’t have to get an actual job.

And since everyone else is paying rent, like they should be, you should too! Oh yeah, let me introduce you to your neighbors: this is an embarrassing memory from third grade when I peed myself during the Halloween party after chugging too much Hawaiian Punch. That tenant usually decides to say aloha every Halloween, whenever I’m out drinking with friends, or whenever I pee my pants. Your upstairs neighbor? A memory of my ex-girlfriend from four years ago who I’m still in love with breaking up with me and telling me that “I have more baggage than any guy she’s been with before.” Hope you have a white noise machine or something, since she likes to wake me up every single night!

Before I forget, let’s go over the lease agreement real quick. Rent is $2,000 a month, and that price will definitely go up next year by the way. Do you need a co-signer? Anya Taylor Joy’s 2021 Emmy’s Award look is also a tenant, I could introduce you. God she looked so fierce that night, what a queen. Anyway, no pets, sorry. I’m allergic. Term of occupancy is forever, or until I watch enough rent-free-worthy content from TikTok that will eventually take your spot, whatever comes first. No smoking, even though I tend to smoke to the point I get so high that I’ll invite you over and cry about how gorgeous and show-stopping Zendaya’s strut was. And that bag! Jesus, she’s the definition of perfection!

Hey, I get it. There’s a lot of things wrong in the attic up there that I’m still trying to work out. I’ve heard your complaints about the air conditioning not working. That’s just my social anxiety-induced sweating that comes and goes. Overthinking is a passion of mine, and that might explain why I can’t stop thinking about that drop dead princess Zendaya looking like a real life Cinderella. Believe me, I’d rather spend my mental capacity on that moment instead of reliving the time my voice cracked while introducing myself at the company holiday party for the 400th time. I am 45 years old. 

Guess what niche pop culture moment? If you don’t start paying rent, I’m going to have to evict you. I can finally make room in my head for real goals and ambitions instead of thinking about how 

Zendaya did that. Can you believe I had a real dream once before I let these silly zeitgeist artifacts take up valuable real estate? I wanted to open up my own niche coffee shop. No WiFi, just people talking man, like it’s 2005. But my dad said owning property and renting it out for sky-high prices was the only way to make him proud. So here I am, in my pajamas at 2 p.m. thinking about Zendaya’s jaw-dropping fit while I gain thousands just by inheriting a building from my dad. 

Listen, as much as I love having you around, basking in awe of that lewk that Zendaya served, I cannot and will not allow you to continue living here rent-free, Zendaya’s red carpet moment at the 2019 Met Gala. These are my terms, take it or leave it. Anyway, I’m gonna go goggle over Timothee Chalamat’s wispy hair in Little Women after I rewatch it seven times. I live downstairs if you need me!