uncanny: “No, I am not fucking going to watch The Conjuring or Annabelle with you. Those movies make me feel uncanny as fuck. But we can watch Raw. Do you want to watch Raw?”
You’re out of red, so grab three of your favorite bottles of Claret (which you can pronounce correctly because you are so cultured), a bottle of Chianti, Malbec, and Garnacha, because like most Millennials, you are a global citizen, which is slang for wino-in-training.
You do not cry. Big girls don’t cry. You narrow down your diagnosis to either gas pain, food poisoning, or your real doctor’s favorite, a virus.
How about instead of me pretending to like sports, you pretend to vehemently hate them?
My restored faith in humanity in general.
I could totally do this. But better.
She dated Chris Martin. I listened to “A Rush of Blood to the Head” on repeat throughout most of middle school.
“Yeah, but everyone in that book is a total asshole. Don’t get me wrong, LOVE it, but ALL assholes.”
Your Beat-Up White Converse: Life is dirty. And so are these shoes. If you stopped to fret over each and every of life’s scuffs, scrapes, or stains, you’d never leave the house.
I made you a playlist. I hope that’s not too much since we just met via the Internet, but you know what is too much? Requesting this song, and only this song, at every party, barbecue, and family get-together you have attended this summer.