I’d applied cucumber-cranberry mask to my eyebags and when I looked in the mirror, I happily saw my bags had retracted so completely that they were concave, as if someone had scooped my eyebags out with a teaspoon. It WAS a dream, but still, I should have been alarmed, right? To my credit, the dug-out gaps were not bloody, they were more like smoothed-over flesh holes.
We used a “Buy 1, Get 1 Free Entree” coupon for the first time pretty much ever tonight, applicable only if you buy two drinks at $2.95 each first. When our food arrived, it was on plates the size of small nipples and with essential ingredients missing, like sweet potato crisps and jicama. I felt self-consciously hoboish, so I didn’t say anything. I’m like that with my poor self esteem sometimes.
Our bedroom smells like pee.
Our bathroom smells like pee too.
Our kitchen smells like old chicken, Reba Macintyre and Christmas tree preservative.
I’ve just learned to live with it.
The Chosen One
I don’t know. I suspect it’s Brad Renfro.
Sure, ask me something and I’ll answer it. For instance, perhaps you’d like to know where I shop for my flesh-dissolving eyebag masks. Or maybe, you’re dying to ask where I come up with my scintillating blog post ideas. Or how to spell scintillating. I’m an open book over here.
The Full Circle
It’s not a circle so much. More like a hypotenuse-less triangle.
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