If you don’t know, read. If you don’t care, fine. I don’t really care if you don’t care. Redeem a tiny part of your willful ignorance by pretending to care enough to share so that maybe, this time, other people will care enough to share, too.
You’ll realize you don’t matter.
I’m no longer too proud to admit that boys created (and sustained) my *need* for makeup.
Baby, when you think you’re alone, don’t cry. You’re not alone. I’m here. We’re all here. And baby, we’re all beautiful.
You’re desensitized to some extremely silly showings of *manhood,* many of which come at your expense. Good luck, babe. You’re gonna need it.
You’ve started ordering her wine. No, no... anything but the Chardonnay. Too oaky.
You set aside at least an hour each day to stare at yourself in the mirror. Usually while crying. You’re a beautiful crier.
We’ve had years of practice mothering little boys. Like it or not, we know how to coax you into becoming a better man.
“But you’re, like, not really black.”
You like, actually have ADHD, though.