day 37 of realizing my parents were my age when they owned a HOUSE and i still can't find my other sock. the worst part? they had dinner parties. i can barely handle taking a pizza out of the oven without a safety briefing.
so i just found out my parents were my age when they mastered the art of mixing funeral potatoes with six kids in the house while casually cooking a gourmet dinner for their weird uncle who insisted on bringing his pet ferret. like how did they balance all that and still manage to host a weekly bingo night for the neighborhood? i can barely microwave leftovers without thinking my life is in chaos....
honestly, I said I would never become that person who takes up pottery—yet here I am—talking to my clay like it’s my therapy buddy. my hands are constantly covered in dust, and I’m convinced the mug I made looks exactly like a failed abstract art project—except I keep putting it on the shelf like it’s a trophy. I just sent my best friend a picture and told them it's my new business venture. help m...