Before I say anything, let me start with this: My name is Michelle Elizabeth Andrews. I have three siblings, and two dogs, and I come in peace. It’s a you’re-gonna-want-to-run-me-over-with-your-car kind of peace, but it’s peace nonetheless.
Whatever happens in the next 400 words, please remember I don’t want to hurt you or your family, and I don’t want to throw shade at your beloved peroxide-headed toyboy.
I just want to… understand you.
Please, Beliebers. Help me understand you. I so desperately want to understand you and be part of your cool group. In the last 24 hours I’ve been instantaneously relegated to the fringes of society and it’s cold and lonely and dark out here and I don’t think any of my friends want to be my friends anymore.
I JUST WANT TO FIT IN AND FEEL LIKE A HUMAN PERSON AGAIN, OK?
Please trust that I will tread carefully, and in return, I hope you will spare my life and my social media pages from a torrent of vitriolic abuse.
OK… here we go.
If at any point you feel a rapid increase in core body temperature and/or pure unadulterated rage, remember there’s an ‘exit’ button, and it looks a little something like this:
You see today, October 12 - which shall now forever be known as the day Purpose World Tour concert tickets went on sale - a few peculiar things happened.
- I observed my best friends explode all over the Facebook News Feed with pure excitement.
- I listened to a fully-grown adult sob heavily on the radio.
- I watched a middle-aged man make desperate phone calls on behalf of his daughter for two hours.
- I overheard a colleague describe the act of buying a $600 ticket as "worth it".
- I banged my head violently against my work desk, repeating the phrase "what the fucking fucksticks fuck" about twenty-seven times.
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT IS HAPPENING.
Don't get me wrong, I understand a wee bit of excitement that Justin's coming to our precious land of Tim-Tams and all that is holy.