it’s not that i’m a loser, it’s just that i spent an entire weekend crafting a detailed backstory for the old guy at the corner store who sells donuts. he’s definitely a retired spy with a tragic past, battling his old flame who might be back in town. so there i was, in line, practically rehearsing my epic reveal to him about our covert operation over sprinkles, when he looks at me and says “what ...
ok but did you ever stop to think that my family group chat is more chaotic than an emergency room during a zombie apocalypse? like, i just found out my cousin is training to be a professional kazoo player while my aunt shares her secret casserole recipe that has literally ruined holidays for three years running. meanwhile, my grandma keeps texting the same blurry picture of a cat that looks suspi...
the way that I accidentally sent a message meant for the lady from the coffee shop to my entire online book club about wanting her to 'remember that one night with the jazz hands'... and now they think I have a SECRET life as a cabaret performer.
the way that I accidentally sent a message meant for the lady from the coffee shop to my entire online book club about wanting her to 'remember that one night with the jazz hands'... and now they think I have a SECRET life as a cabaret performer.
no because i just sat here crafting elaborate break-up monologues with my imaginary boyfriend who only exists in my head— i even picked a sad song for when i walk away from him in slow motion. the kicker? he didn’t even make it to my grocery list, but somehow he made it into my tragic novel— clearly i have a deep-seated issue.