“Wait until you see the popcorn I bought. And I checked the ingredients.” He’s checking our post-fuck snacks for my allergens. 😭

Surprise conversation where you find out someone you respect and adore is also a slut. Fucking swoon.

It’s raining hard. He just just left to pick up dinner. I’m in his living room in a hoodie & sweats & lacy undies & gorgeous bra underneath. This feels surreal and fleeting. I hope I’m wrong. I want to hold onto it, even though I know if I tried, it would glide through my fingers like smoke.

I’m too high to be looking at tea blends.

No nut November? Aaahaha. Not quite.

Starting now I refuse to acknowledge a gig economy. No thank you. I want a fig economy. Fig Newtons specifically. Original only. I want a jig economy. Society does not dance enough. I want a flourishing wig economy to ensure that drag queens are the richest people in this godforsaken country.