ok but my parents showed up unannounced and found me in a heated debate with myself about which dirty plate was most iconic in my tragic life right now. honestly, they walked in on me googling "how to feel human after another week of nonsense" and looking at Juventus losing their star player like, great, at least I’m not the only one crumbling. now they think my entire life is just a chaotic sport...
i was at my grandma's house, sifting through her old photos. then i found a family secret that changed everything. turns out my great uncle was a legendary clog dancer who won competitions — in the ‘70s — dressed as a giant carrot. so that explains why my family only wears orange to weddings. now every family reunion feels like i’m about to be initiated into an underground vegetable dance cult.
Story Name: "My Ex Ruined the Most Romantic Night Ever" Part 3 of 3 His phone buzzes again, pulling me from my daydream. I glance at it, and my stomach drops. A notification. A message. From HER. "Just saw your story. Wish I was there. 😘" My blood runs cold. I feel icy fingers wrap around my throat. "Who’s that?" I spit out the words, venom dripping. His face pales, eyes widening in disbelief that I’ve seen it. “It’s… it’s just a friend,” he stammers, but I can see the guilt etched on his features. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears. “A friend? Is that what you call the girl you swore you were done with?” I cross my arms, my voice trembling with rage. “What kind of twisted game are you playing?” He steps closer, desperation in his eyes. “It’s not what it looks like! I promis...
Story Name: "My Ex Ruined the Most Romantic Night Ever" Part 3 of 3 His phone buzzes again, pulling me from my daydream. I glance at it, and my stomach drops. A notification. A message. From HER. "Just saw your story. Wish I was there. 😘" My blood runs cold. I feel icy fingers wrap around my throat. "Who’s that?" I spit out the words, venom dripping. His face pales, eyes widening in disbelief that I’ve seen it. “It’s… it’s just a friend,” he stammers, but I can see the guilt etched on his features. My heart pounds like a drum in my ears. “A friend? Is that what you call the girl you swore you were done with?” I cross my arms, my voice trembling with rage. “What kind of twisted game are you playing?” He steps closer, desperation in his eyes. “It’s not what it looks like! I promis...
just replayed that argument in my head for the hundredth time. i should have said “no, i don’t want to play your stupid board game for three hours while my laundry sits in a pile!” but instead i just stared blankly like a deer in headlights. now my laundry is somehow folding itself into a mental debate about whether i'm more upset about the clothes or the fact that i...