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    In The Event Of My Untimely Disappearance

    Please use a photo in which I look incredible.

    Maritsa Patrinos / BuzzFeed

    I, Rachel Wilkerson Miller, would like to make the following wishes known.

    In the event of my sudden disappearance, please locate the folder on my desktop labeled "Good For Media." Distribute the following photos of me to all local and — fingers crossed! — national media:

    Rachel W. Miller

    Or this more recent one:

    Rachel W. Miller

    It's important to choose a photo of me where I look light-skinned, so people will look for me.

    Under no circumstances are you to use any photos from before summer 2013, when I started penciling in my eyebrows.

    My missing persons report should include the following facts:

    That I live in a nice home; that I went to Catholic school; that I write about weddings and love our two dogs; that I have 5- and 10-year goals; that we were planning on ~starting a family~. (Nobody needs to know I meant with dogs.)

    To my husband Eric:

    You have my permission to tell them I was three weeks pregnant.

    Please know that if my phone has been left behind, I was definitely kidnapped. However, if I did take my phone with me, I still very well might have been kidnapped.

    Please make sure that my mother gets time at the mic when tearfully pleading for my safe return. It's the least you can do for her.

    I shouldn't have to say this, but Eric, your exclusive concerned-husband-interview should be given to NBC/Matt Lauer. Not GMA.

    If anyone who knew me gives Nancy Grace even one fucking second of your time in regards to my disappearance, YOU are the ones who are dead (to me).

    I request that Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler take the lead in questioning people of interest or suspects.

    Oh, and for fuck's sake, Eric, PLEASE don't do anything stupid and/or out of character in the aftermath of my disappearance. YES, I will be annoyed if I come home from my harrowing ordeal and the house is a mess, but this is not the time to have the house professionally cleaned. Make the bed, clean dirty dishes out of the sink, sure, but so help me God, do not even think about touching a bottle of bleach.

    In the event of my untimely death:

    Please know that my husband probably did not do it, but should anyone find anything that indicates he was cheating on me — he definitely did it and should go to jail forever. If he left me in a body of water of any sort, please seek the death penalty instead. He knows how I feel about getting my hair wet and he did that out of spite.

    If it's made absolutely certain that Eric did not do it, please use this wedding photo when talking about our "perfect marriage":

    Katherine O'Brien

    By the way, I probably didn't Gone Girl myself, but I'm flattered that anyone would think me so organized.

    Friends and family: when describing me to the press, please do not use the phrase "She always lit up a room."

    It's not that I didn't light up a great many rooms in my day — it's just that I was so much more than a beautiful lamp. If you're stumped, here are a few ideas I've pre-approved:

    She had great hair and an even greater personality.

    She was the most photogenic drunk I ever met.

    Rachel was everyone's cheerleader; she was always encouraging people to just go ahead and send that suggestive text.

    Rachel was so generous; she always gave the best birthday and holiday gifts, and it didn't bother her one bit when I formatted my resume exactly like hers.

    She was so disciplined; no matter how crazy things got, she never got into a flame war on Facebook.

    Rachel was so generous. She kept a curling iron and extra hair ties in her desk, and was happy to loan them to anyone who was having a bad hair day.

    A statement on memorial/RIP Facebook statuses:

    I've never been a fan; "RIP" is just too cartoon graveyard. I mean, it's your life, and your Facebook, and you should do what you want, but I just want you to know how I feel about it.

    Finally, if my friends and family agree to a one-hour televised documentary about my life, a few stipulations:

    - No dramatic reenactments.

    - No title that includes a pun on the various forms and synonyms of "murder." (I'm looking at you, Southern Fried Homicide.)

    - It would be great if you could also get my story turned into a "ripped from the headlines" episode of Law & Order: SVU.

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