Luckiest Girl Alive

It's 2015, and people still act like marriage

is some sort of crowning achievement for women.

That is a trap I did not fall into.

Some people prefer to really feel like they're holding a knife in their hands.

I dove in headfirst.

Most professional chefs, they prefer...

I don't normally quiver for cutlery,

but I'm getting married in six weeks, so here we are.

- Does that mean it's sharper? - Scary sharp.

And she ain't cheap, but she is the superior blade.

Well, baby, we can't start married life with inferior blades.

So you wanna choose a knife that feels comfortable in your hand.

What do you think of the Zwilling?

Snap out of it, psycho.

It's heavier.

She has the touch.

Oh... Well...

I think being a petite woman, you'll find the Miyabi easier to manage.

I've managed to not eat lunch for six years

just to have this joker call me petite.

Petite is what they call short fat girls.

I should know. I used to be one.

Text your mom.

- Let her know we're officially registered. - Okay.

Luke Harrison the Fourth played D1 lacrosse at Colgate,

kite surfs on Nantucket,

and skis in Vail because Aspen is lousy with the nouveau riche.

Mmm.

He calls me "babe" with the finest of intentions.

- Let's go, babe. - Yeah.

Heretofore, it is his birthright to marry a blond insect of Norwegian descent

with a gender-ambiguous name, like Landry or Devon,

who can spot my grift a mile away.

Hey, can we get pizza?

Who are you, and what have you done with my fiancée?

I'm not to the manor born,

but I have something no trust fund can buy...

the edge.

It doesn't take much in Luke's world.

Love your work, hate babies, even the cute ones,

have a few lurid secrets,

and be eternally grateful that Luke knows all of them and still loves me.

Um, my mom is asking if the invites went out.

Mm. Yeah, once I approve the font.

- Once you approve the font? - Yes.

Oh. Once Ani approves the font.

Thank you.

Oh, she's saying they should go out six weeks before.

- Jesus, are we at six weeks already? - Yeah.

Whoa, we are at six weeks.

All done here?

- Yeah, maybe just a box, please. - Sure.

- Loo. - Okay.

Someone once called me an animal.

One wrong move and Luke will see it too.

Hmm.

You can just take that. Thank you.

Jesus. What happened?

Waitress spilled soda all over the pizza and my dress.

Oh no.

It's gonna be okay, babe. Okay?

Come on, I'll help you.

Baby, I love you.

Oh! Oh my God.

- I'm so full. - You hardly ate anything.

Okay, so maybe I keep some secrets from him,

but no one has ever made me feel so safe.

I'm proud of you for eating carbs, babe.

I wanna see every one of you dripping in sweat.

Nothing is so bad that you can't do it for ten more seconds.

Ugh! Nineteen minutes?

Some people have jobs to get to.

I mean, not me, but some people.

But I can't be late today.

Oh my God. Are you meeting the documentary director today?

Yes.

Okay, well, you're not gonna be late on my watch.

Nell Rutherford has been fostering me since freshman year of college.

I know you never take the subway.

Oh God, no, no, no. I-I really... I really hate this.

Okay. By your side.

Nell is a natural blond with a trust fund.

I'm a try-hard former financial-aid kid.

We both hate where we came from.

Your mom's coming this weekend, right?

Oh, yes.

She's been to TJ Maxx three times

to try to find an outfit for my fitting at Saks Fifth Avenue on the 5th Avenue.

Wow, what is the opposite of a legend?

Okay, I think this one is the most you.

What? Only You Pro?

Oh.

Would you pick it?

I mean, I'm not getting married until we have a woman for president,

so I guess we'll know soon enough.

Uh...

I, uh... I'm still scared I'm making a mistake.

Getting married?

No. No, like is Only You Pro the font of a trash slut

who doesn't know how to pass the salt and pepper shakers together.

Oh my God, there is no such thing as a slutty font. It doesn't exist.

God, I can't breathe.

Oh my God.

It's okay.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

This is normal. Okay? This happens all the time.

We are experiencing a delay...

- It's no big deal. - ... due to train traffic ahead of us.

Thank you for your patience.

You okay?

There we go. See?

Next stop 34th Street-Herald Square.

- And we're moving. Okay. - Oh my God.

Ugh! Eleanor Whitman. Brought in from The Atlantic

to elevate the overly-sex fashion glossy where I work.

How was your weekend?

I feel like I ran a half-marathon through Williams-Sonoma.

- Williams-Sonoma? - Yeah.

You should register for a few pieces at Scully & Scully if you can.

I'm sure Luke's family would go in on them.

The fuck is Scully & Scully?

Obsessed with Scully & Scully.

My bedroom sconces are from there.

Mmm.

Eleanor gets to write about topics with gravitas,

like the wage gap and women in Afghanistan.

I'm on another equally important beat.

Your voice, Miss FaNelli...

is simply peerless.

My jaw hurts after reading that.

This is what sells our magazine.

Apparently men's pleasure is of global importance.

So a recent study in the American Journal of Public Health

found that last year, 30% of sexual assault survivors

had to pay $940 for their own rape kits.

That's a girl's whole paycheck.

Right. So I was thinking

"The Real Cost of Sexual Assault" as the cover line.

Oh! Lavender. Retch.

Hmm.

How about, "When Your Rape Costs More than Your Rent"?

Now that gets us on The Today Show.

Mm...

Miss FaNelli, give me something skanky to keep the lights on.

Okay.

Let's see, skanky...

Okay, a new study in the Journal of Kinesiology

found that nasal breathing is optimal for sports performance

and is used by some of the top athletes around the world.

So, "Five Weeks to an Olympian Blow Job:

Breathe Like a Top Athlete

to Last Longer and Go Deeper than His Ex."

When I count my blessings, I count you twice.

- Draft by the end of the week? - Yeah.

Thank you, everyone.

Come with me.

It's gonna be your name on the masthead of The New York Times Magazine.

Lower than mine, but it beats a Cuisinart for a wedding gift.

I am this close to becoming Ani Harrison,

senior editor at The New York Times Magazine,

to becoming someone people can respect.

Abstaining from lunch allows me to squat in Eleanor's office when I need it.

One day, I'll have a corner office with my own insufferable display

of prestigious and frankly phallic-looking awards.

Until then, I pretend I'm important.

The rock was Luke's grandmother's.

Oh. Pardon me, his Nana's.

He told me I could reset it in a diamond band,

what all the girls are doing now.

Exactly why I will never.

I intend to send a very clear message.

This is an heirloom.

We don't just have money. We come from money.

Take your best shot.

Hey, Ani. Good to see you again.

Sorry to make you come all the way to Midtown.

Katie, thank you so much.

Can you please remind Benjamin that I need the art

for the wage-gap story?

Um, the what story?

The smart story I just made up to sound more impressive.

Ask Penelope.

- Sit, please. - I appreciate you making the time.

- Mm-hmm. - Uh...

I know you said that the documentary was not the right choice at the moment,

but there's been a pretty sizable development since the last time we spoke.

Your former classmate, Dean Barton, has signed on to be interviewed.

Keep it the fuck together, FaNelli.

I guess it shouldn't be a surprise he has a new book to promote.

I'm sure you saw his speech before Congress this summer.

Only 200 times.

No.

Oh, it was a plea to tighten firearm background checks in Pennsylvania.

Your ring. Show him your ring.

I'm afraid I've been preoccupied this summer with planning the wedding

and the magazine's initiative with Hillary's campaign.

I can't imagine what it's like to have people grilling you about it

so many years later.

You're a survivor of the deadliest private-school shooting in history.

And the reason it continues to captivate public interest