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Three Hundred Sixty Six.

I know what you’re thinking.

Nope. I still don’t have any answers. And I still don’t feel like a grown up. Maybe slightly closer, but I still don’t even want to have to take care of a houseplant.

SIDENOTE: Somehow I manage to keep my dogs alive and happy. I don’t know how that works. Life Math is weird.

…Maybe I’m just not a green thumb.

Anyway.

My BFF Jo texted me yesterday and said, “It’s your last day as a 26 year old.”

At first I kind of panicked. Holy shitballs. 26. It’s over. I feel like it just started. I know it sounds like a super cliche, but in some ways, it really was like the blink of an eye.

I started this blog a year ago as a challenge to myself as a writer. Early in 2012, I kind of lost faith in myself. I hit a major rough patch and thought wow, maybe I’m actually a terrible writer. Maybe I have no idea what I’m doing. Maybe I don’t want to ever write again. Of course, I eventually came around and realized that writing is the thing I love the most. And in the same vein, I knew that if I wanted to be a writer, I’d have to write.

But I was kind of scared.

So I promised myself I would write something every day.

I wasn’t really expecting that forcing myself to write a blog post every day – a story that somehow led to me learning a life lesson, no matter how small – would help me be happy. I saw it as much more of an exercise than anything else. And an opportunity to maybe be funny. But I have to say, writing this blog has given me a completely different outlook on my entire life. It’s helped me understand how my past has made me who I am. It’s helped me work through a lot of difficult times and put a positive spin on things I would have never otherwise laughed at. It’s helped me approach life in a much more open, accepting way.

Like, happen to me, life: I’m ready to learn from you.

That was a disaster. Oh well, next time will be better!

I can’t believe that just happened. I am mortified. Also, that was hilarious. I can’t wait to tell people.

I did it! Someone pat me on the fucking back!

I hate everything right now. Surely someone will understand.

I am hurting. I need to know it’s going to be okay.

This is weird. Does everyone feel this way?

Did that just happen? SRSLY?!

At the same time, I had come to a bit of a crossroads with myself. I had hit a self-love low. I was feeling depressed, defeated, discouraged, you name it. I decided enough was enough: it was time to make the active decision to be happy.

I also discovered that Jayne Mansfield had stretchmarks. And my world was turned upside down. In a good way.

To quote myself (is that totally pretentious? I’m trying to recap, shut up.):

Jayne Mansfield, the American actress, singer, Playboy playmate, and all around drop-dead gorgeous bombshell, was flawed in a way that has been the root of much of my self-consciousness for all of my teenage and adult life.

So…all of that got me here.

SIDENOTE: It’s really hard writing the last post of a 365-day blog.

It’s going to be difficult to let this blog go. I know I’m going to wake up tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and my first thought is going to be, “What can I write about today?” or, “Oh shit! I still have to blog today!”

But I’m looking forward to channelling my creative energy into a number of other projects that I’ve already either started or am about to. So I guess what I’m saying is I’m not going anywhere. Maybe there will be another blog. Maybe not. But I promise there will be something.

I was trying to think of a fun way to commemorate the end of this blog.

Here’s what I came up with.

Jayne Mansfield had stretchmarks.

jayne

And so do I.

Image2

xA

P.S. It’s hilariously ironic that in the majority of the pin-up photos I took, my stretchmarks aren’t that visible. Because they’re everywhere.

But I guess there’s a life lesson in that, isn’t there?

I’m probably the only one who really notices them.

Image7_2

P.P.S. Things I meant to write but forgot: Happy Birthday to me! Also, here’s to 27! I’m crazy excited for it!

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Three Hundred Sixty Five.

I know this is a 365-day blog, but this is technically the penultimate post, because it’s a birthday to birthday thing. And tomorrow’s my birthday!

600px-US_27.svg

SIDENOTE: Have you bought me a birthday present yet? We can’t be friends if you didn’t because all I care about is material possessions.

Anyway, I thought what better way to spend the second-last day of my crazy year-long blog than looking back on some of its best moments?

SIDENOTE: Maybe that should say best/”best”…

Think of this, if you will, as a flashback episode of your favourite TV sitcom. With the help of a couple friends, I’ve compiled some categories I think you’ll enjoy.

Without further ado…

Top 5 Stupid Kid Moments

photo(1)

Oh boy. Where to even start with this one?! Well, okay…

1. Pressing buttons was (OKAY, STILL IS) a thing I loved doing. See examples A and B.

2. Of course, there was the time I electrocuted myself

3. The day I put scissors through my finger

4. Setting fire to things is never a good idea.

5. Neither is writing a hate letter to your childhood friend.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

I have to give honourable mention to the day I learned that “bastard” is a bad word. Oh, and also to the combination of shaving off my eyebrows and getting hair extensions.

And guess what?! It’s your lucky day. I found a photo of teenage Andrea with hair extensions and no eyebrows. And apparently I have no shame because I’m gonna post it on the Internet.

Extensions

Boy oh boy oh boy.

Moving on!

Top 5 Most Awkward Moments

If you haven’t deduced by now, I am the QUEEN OF AWKWARD. This is quite the random assortment, but I feel it encompasses who I am pretty well…

1. The day a goat ate my t-shirt. (Enough said.) (Stupid goats.) (Seriously, why would she do that to me?!) (Ugh.) (I fucking loved that t-shirt.) (SOB.)

2. The day I learned about orgasms in sex ed. (Is anyone else craving cake?!)

3. Barrel-chested. That is all.

4. The day the National Poet of Scotland called me stupid. Which I really should add to my resume.

5. My elementary school “boobies” moment.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

There are so, so many, but I feel like my Pilates FAIL and my Zumba BARF moments were pretty grand.

Top 5 “SRSLY?!” Moments

You know those moments. The ones that make you go, “what the fucking?!”

1. People and my tattoos. Why are people so weird about my tattoos?

2. That time a guy threw a book at my face. No big deal.

3. NO I DON’T WANT TO TAN.

4. Nothing says “what the fuck?” like getting pepper sprayed!

5. Also charming: when people tell you how to pronounce your own name

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

I have to give myself a shout out for fucking up my neck by making fun of someone on a Zumba DVD. Because who the fuck does that? This girl, right here.

But the greatest honourable mention in this category goes to Glasgow, Scotland, where I experienced so many WTF things, including…

Finding a tooth in an ATM.

Finding a used tampon on a bus.

And buses in general.

Among so many others. I fucking love you, Glasgow. I really do.

Top 5 Workplace Blunders

It’s a wonder I still have my job. It really is. It’s also a wonder I still have any self-confidence after all of the stupid humbling things that have happened to me at work…

1. My friends still bring up the day I parked on the sidewalk.

2. Also charming: locking yourself in a stairwell on your first day of work.

3. Or, you know, getting caught dancing in the bathroom.

4. Similarly, walking in on your coworkers in the bathroom.

5. Or traumatizing them with your hair colour.

BONUS PHOTO:

Getting caught taking a selfie at work.

Work selfie

At least I know my office mate loves me and doesn’t judge me.

Top 5 Relationship/Sex Fails

Look. I’d prefer we don’t dwell on how much I suck at relationships, okay? OKAY?!

1. I have been known to throw myself at guys I like.

2. I’ve learned the hard way that spin the bottle will only break your heart.

3. So will going after guys who don’t care that you exist. (But you can keep trying to shout “LOVE ME! LOOOOOVE MEEEE!” at them. Trust me. Guys SUPER love that.)

4. I’m good at ending up in awkward sex situations.

5. And awkward kissing situations, sometimes.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS AND A BONUS PHOTO:

Okay, well, first of all, heartbreak, right?

I think I also screwed it up with this guy, because he was clearly paying me a compliment.

Let’s not forget all of my failed marriages. Sigh.

And the time a MONSTER RASH ruined my potential Scottish boyfriend.

And hey, since I’ve already shown you how great I looked with hair extensions as an eyebrowless wonder, here’s a photo of me in the midst of the MONSTER RASH attack. This was after I managed to get my eyes open, because they were swollen shut.

Photo 130

Good lord…

Top 5 Accomplishments

I didn’t screw up everything, though. I’ve done some stuff. Yeah. I do things! I TCB every once in a while!

1. I’ve gotten over a lot of fear to become a Zumba instructor.

2. Then I stuck with it for a year and changed my life.

3. I grew back my eyebrows, guys. I fucking did it!

4. I got over some serious “I can’t!” bullshit and also tried wall climbing.

5. Oh, hey, I also learned how to embrace myself sometimes. I think that’s pretty huge.

HONOURABLE MENTION:

I BLOGGED EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR 365 FUCKING DAYS.

A year, guys. A YEAR.

I’m excited to celebrate my birthday with you all tomorrow.

xA

P.S. I know what you’re thinking. There totally should have been some sort of crazy travel category. But I just couldn’t narrow that shit down. So you’ll just have to re-read my entire blog to enjoy.

Two Hundred Ninety Four.

It was a random summer day, back when I was working at the bookstore. I was shelving books at the back of the store. Shelving books was actually one of my favourite tasks, because it allowed me to be organized, and when it was my sole duty, it also meant that I rarely had to stop to help customers.

SIDENOTE: Customers. What a drag.

Anyway, there I was shelving books. I had about six copies of one book that all needed to go together (obviously), so I had to move some others out of the way. I reached for a book and OUT OF NOWHERE a cricket jumped at my face.

A cricket.

?????????????????

A cricket?! What the fuck?!

I screamed – naturally – and the cricket jumped toward me again. My manager, with whom I had become friends, was pretty close by, so I yelled at him and he trapped the cricket underneath the stepping stool I had been using to reach the top shelves.

That’s all you need to know. Well, it’s all that happened.

It was traumatic.

Another day, one of my friends called me and told me about how she hadn’t been sleeping in her bedroom for the last few days, because the crickets she kept in a tank to feed to her chameleon had somehow escaped and were all over her room, chirping.

That didn’t even happen to me and it was traumatic.

Okay.

At my desk at work, my hard drive sits on top of a thick piece of Styrofoam. To be honest, I have no idea why the Styrofoam is there, because the height difference doesn’t seem to change anything about the setup, but it’s always been there, so I’ve never questioned it.

When I sit at my desk, I often cross one leg over the other, and sometimes, my dangling foot will rub against the Styrofoam ever so slightly. When it does this, the Styrofoam makes a very light squeaking sound.

Without fail, EVERY TIME I hear the squeak, I panic and think there’s a cricket under my desk.

I’d love to tell you that this has only happened a few times in the eight or whatever months I’ve been at my job. I’d love to tell you that. But it happens more like 30 times a day.

Lesson learned: It sure didn’t take much for me to be destroyed by crickets.

xA

P.S. If you’re keeping track of super cool shit I do at work, here’s a bonus story. I did a fairly intense chest and back strength training workout last night, so my pecs and “wings” (right under the armpit) are super sore. Right near the end of my work day, I was gripping my sore pecs because, well, they were sore, when some random guy I have never seen on my floor before walked by. He stared at me in horror while I seemingly cupped my own tits.

So that was awesome.

One Hundred Fifty Six.

My fears are kind of backwards.

Like, this doesn’t scare me:

WD Zombies

Neither does this:

Exorcist

Or this:

Shining Twins

But here are some things that do…

LADYBUGS

I won’t repeat my story. Go read it if you forget it.

THE CYMBAL MONKEY

That face.
That face.

I think mostly because I’m scared of monkeys in general. And I think I’m mostly scared of monkeys in general because they’re so much like people, but not. I feel like they are people, but they’re trapped in these weird bodies, and I feel like they must resent us for that. I mean, I know I would.

So basically, I think that monkeys must hate people and they probably want to kill us and take over the world. Sort of like Planet of the Apes. Only that movie doesn’t scare me, and monkeys do.

I’m so complicated…

THE FURBY

Which is apparently making a comeback...
Which is apparently making a comeback…

First of all, it talks, which is not okay with me.

Secondly, those eyes.

Thirdly, what the fuck is that thing on its forehead?

Fourthly, you know that shit’s coming to life when it’s dark. And you know it’s somehow gonna learn how to like, poison the glass of water you keep on your night table while you’re sleeping or something.

Here’s the thing: I had a really bad experience with a talking Barney the Dinosaur doll once. I’ll tell you about it soon. Maybe tomorrow. Regardless, ever since that, talking toys in general…

Oh, and also:

BARNEY THE DINOSAUR

"Hello, friends!"
“Hello, friends!”

NOPE.

DON’T WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND.

DON’T LIKE YOUR VOICE.

I THINK YOU’RE A PEDOPHILE.

I’m calm. I am calm!

E.T.

MOTHERF***ER.
MOTHERF***ER.

I AM NO LONGER CALM.

Guys, I am so scared of E.T. that I cried a little bit while I was writing this post.

Yes, I’m serious.

Having that photo on my blog freaks me the hell out. Doing a Google image search for E.T. was traumatic, and I’m CERTAIN I am going to have an E.T. nightmare tonight.

I honestly don’t get how kids and people (because – Freudian slip – kids are not people, apparently) love E.T. like he’s some friendly, cute creature. Just look at him! He’s DISGUSTING.

Let me tell you something. I saw E.T. once – ONE TIME – when I was five or six years old, and I was never the same again. From that point onward, I have had recurring E.T. nightmares.

What could cute, sweet little E.T. be doing that is so scary, you ask?

He’s usually strangling me with his gross long fingers and laughing in his gross, weird voice. And while he’s strangling me, I’m trying to punch him away. I punch his stupid face, but he’s made of rubber and my fists just keep bouncing off his head. Nothing hurts him and his grip just keeps tightening until I’m dead.

Pleasant, right?

Childhood is scary, y’all. It’s a surprise any of us make it this far even a little bit normal.

xA

P.S. Agree? Disagree? Be my therapy group, guys. I think it’s obvious by now that I need it.

P.P.S. If you like E.T., I NEED TO KNOW WHY.

One Hundred Nine.

Remember the Easy Bake Oven?

Pretty!
Pretty!

So cute and pink?

Yeah, I never had one.

I had a Creepy Crawlers Oven.

Oooooh.
Oooooh.

Despite my aversion to bugs, I have always been about the darker, scarier side of things, even as a young child. I liked scary stories, “scary” movies, and apparently I preferred the Creepy Crawlers Oven to the Easy Bake Oven.

If you’ve never heard of it, the Creepy Crawlers Oven made “fruit snack” sort of things instead of muffin, cake, and cookie sort of things. You basically added water to some gross powder mixes, poured them into the mould, and “baked” them. When they “baked,” it smelled like burning plastic,* and the “fruit snacks” themselves made me feel kind of ill – especially this weird, pink, strawberry foam-type one – but I ate them anyway, because I was a chubby little kid with a serious love-on for candy.

Looks healthy and delicious, right?
Looks healthy and delicious, right?**

ANYWAY.

So one day, I was “baking” some Creepy Crawlers “fruit snacks,” and I had had my fill. My lungs were full of burnt plastic smell and my belly was full of disgusting scorpion-shaped treats. It was time to call it a night.

I had the oven plugged in under the desk in our basement, so I crawled over and went to unplug it. It was kind of stuck, and it was kind of dark down there, so I moved in for a better grip…

And that was when it happened.

All of a sudden, my whole body was shaking. I felt like I was sitting on a massage chair or something, and try as I might, I could not let go of the plug. It was as though my hand had been super-glued to the metal prongs. After a moment, I realized that I was making an, “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” sound without even being aware of it.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

Just as my mom came running down the stairs to find me, I was able to shake my hand free of the plug-in.

That was the day I learned to be careful when plugging and unplugging electronics. Otherwise you can electrocute yourself.

For at least two or three hours afterward, I felt like my blood was supercharged. I vibrated. I didn’t know it yet, but it felt like I was HIGHLY caffeinated. I was shivering, but not cold.

Fucking Creepy Crawlers.

Be careful, kids.

xA

EDITED TO ADD: Wow! Okay! So the fact that I got electrocuted must have messed up my memory of this moment. One of my friends on Facebook mentioned to me that she didn’t realize that Creepy Crawlers were edible, and it occurred to me that they’re not! Creepy Crawlers were just weird, useless little toy bugs you could make, and you could blend the colours and such to have custom bugs. (Yay! NOT!) I had completed mashed up two different toys from childhood in my memory.

The disgusting “fruit snacks” that I made were, in fact, the product of a different toy, called Dr. Dreadful’s Freaky Food Lab. Here’s a picture:

Gross.
Gross.

They were, in case you hadn’t guessed already, DREADFUL.

For the record, the thing that electrocuted me was definitely the Creepy Crawlers Oven, because I will forever associate the smell of burning plastic with my electrocution. Hilarious.

*I will remember that smell until the day I die.

**I feel like I should defend my mom and say that this was like, the one gross thing she let me have. And by gross, I mean with totally artificial and questionable ingredients. I grew up in a house where we weren’t allowed sugary cereals or Pop Tarts, and I’m glad we weren’t. (Though at the time, of course, I just wanted a damn Pop Tart.)

One Hundred Seven.

Well, since I’m apparently not afraid to seem like a prissy bitch and I’ve told you about how I became scared of hostels, let me tell you about how I became afraid of camping.

You’re probably thinking, “Oh, she must have had some traumatic experience or something. Maybe she got chased by a bear!”*

Guys, I’ve never been camping.

I know, I know, what kind of person am I?

SIDENOTE: I’ve also never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. What are you gonna do about it?

Camping looks fun.

IN THEORY.
IN THEORY.

But here’s what worries me:

What am I gonna eat?

I’m a gluten-free vegan. Yes, I could still grill up a mean tofu steak and some veggies, but also…

How am I gonna wash my hands constantly?

I’m a bit of a germaphobe. I like things to be clean. Really clean. I like washing my hands lots. Especially when I’m cooking and/or eating. And also…

Where am I gonna pee?

I sure as hell am not gonna pee outdoors, y’all. I don’t even know if I know how to do that properly. Need I remind you that I won’t even pee in some public washrooms? Forget outhouses – unless it’s an emergency.** This point could be on a constant loop with the previous point – how am I gonna wash my hands constantly? And speaking of hygiene…

How will I shower daily?

Yep. Daily. In fact, I usually shower twice a day: once in the morning and once after the gym. I can’t stand not showering. I feel all grimy and sticky and weird about it, even after a day. Plus…

How am I gonna look pretty?

I do not look good without showering. It’s one of the few downsides of having short hair. You can’t just sleep on it and then wake up and look fabulous like those jerks with perfect long hair. It goes everywhere. Some days, if you’re lucky as fuck, it can be endearing. Most days, though, you just look like a crazy person. A dirty crazy person.

And now, what may be my biggest camping worry – and quite possibly the most stereotypically girly one…

BUGS.

I do NOT like bugs. Like, I don’t even like watching bugs on television, never mind having bugs anywhere near me. Sometimes, in the summer, I get a mosquito in my bedroom and I literally cannot sleep until I find it and kill it. If I don’t, my imagination goes crazy thinking about everything that could happen while I’m sleeping: the mosquito may bite me a million times, or fly into my ear and find a way to kill me via my brain (or it’ll just burrow in there and I’ll wake up one day and be myself but slightly off, because the mosquito will be pinching a brain nerve or something), or I’ll just choke on it in my sleep. I’ve woken up coughing. I know what’s up. And I don’t like it.

Basically, sleeping in a tent that bugs have access to = NOT OKAY.

I could go on and on, but I think I’ve made myself look bad enough. I have to admit that despite all of these worries, camping does have an appeal. I’ve always dreamed of being a little more outdoorsy. And outdoorsy guys are sexy. You know the ones. They’re kind of rugged and they know how to start fires and climb mountains and shit. (So hot.)

Where was I?

Right.

So here’s what I’ve learned from a lifetime of being camping-curious:

(A) I should either go “camping” in an RV instead of the real deal, or

(B) I should go real-camping with someone who is very, very, very patient.

Form an orderly line, folks – no need to fight over my camping company.

xA

*But remember when I got maced? I sure do.

**Even then, I would have to assess the level of emergency, and I’d say it would have to be an 8+ on a scale from 1-10 for me to use an outhouse.

Forty Five.

Okay, so I know that I like I joke about kids being annoying and potentially scary and that I’ve mentioned how uncertain I feel about whether I want to have children of my own and everything, but deep down inside, on most days*, I love kids.

I started babysitting at a damn early age, and I was damn good at it. All of the kids I took care of? I loved them like crazy. (Okay, not all of them. Some of them were super annoying. But the ones I took care of regularly/often, I loved them.) I would like, walk through fire for them.

SPOILER ALERT: I never had to walk through fire for a kid, thank goodness, but I did do some boundary-pushing stuff for them, which I am about to elaborate on.

EXHIBIT A.
EXHIBIT A.

Ladybugs. I’m just gonna lay it all out here: even doing an image search for ladybugs made me feel queasy. I hate ladybugs. I HATE THEM. Also, I FEAR THEM. Look, I get it, it’s weird because ladybugs are “so pretty” or whatever, but when I was about seven, I had a recurring nightmare that I’d wake up in my bed in the middle of a room that was mine-but-not-mine and EVERYTHING was covered in ladybugs. The walls were crawling with ladybugs, the floors, my bed, my skin. They were in my nose, my mouth, my eyes. I was suffocating on ladybugs and all I could smell and taste was that gross smell they leave on you when you hold them, which I think is actually a defense mechanism to keep them from being eaten my predators.

SIDENOTE: Don’t worry, ladybugs, I’m NEVER going to eat you. I think you’re super gross. No offense.

(Just describing that dream, I feel itchy and my heart rate is up. Ugh.)

ANYWAY.

So this one time I was babysitting one of my usual kids, who was about four, and we were upstairs playing in her room with all of her toys (because little kids like to play with ALL of their toys, not just one or even some). At one point, she disappeared to the corner of her room, and when she returned, she looked elated. She had one had extended toward me and a huge, toothy grin on her face. Her eyes were sparkling. This was the best moment of her whole life thus far.

Look, I’m not going to torture you with anticipation. Also, if you’re smart, you should see where this is going already. It was a ladybug. It was crawling around on her hand, and she really wanted me to see it.

“Look!” she exclaimed, holding it out to me.

“Oh, wow! It’s so pretty!**” I said, taking a small, subtle step backward. (See: stumbling away and nearly putting a hole in the wall behind me.)

“Here, hold it!”

“Oh no, that’s okay – you play with your ladybug friend!”

“No, you hold it! It tickles!”

Guys, she was so happy. She just wanted to share the happiness. So I did what I think anyone with a heart would do: I let her put the ladybug on my hand and I smiled (and probably broke a huge sweat) and tried to stay calm. After a few moments, I put the ladybug back onto the houseplant in the corner of the kid’s room and then I suggested we go downstairs to play and watch a movie. (To get the hell out of the room, obviously.)

And then I thought/worried about that ladybug. It haunted me. It still does.

EXHIBIT B.
EXHIBIT B.

SIDENOTE: My GOD those fries look good.

So this other time that I was babysitting (this was actually more of a nanny gig than a babysitting gig, because I would watch the kid from 10-6 a few times a week), the little boy’s dad left me with a $20 bill and said, “You should take Sammy*** for lunch today at the Arby’s – he loves it.” So I agreed and incorporated a stop at Arby’s into one of our many afternoon walks. (Sammy LOVED going for walks in his stroller, and it was one of the only ways to get him to sleep, so we went on LOTS of walks.)

We got to Arby’s and I ordered some french fries for myself and a chicken nugget and french fry combo for the kid and we found a booth to hang out in. Sammy was so excited. He clearly loved seeing all of the people at the restaurant, climbing around on the seats on the booth, etc. It was pretty adorable, and since I was a young teen myself, I felt pretty cool sitting there with a kid and pretending he was mine.

SIDENOTE: Imagine, I thought it was cool to have a kid. That’s cute. Also, he was like, white blonde with giant blue eyes. He would have only been mine if I had stolen him.

Once we actually settled down to eat, Sammy thought it would be really, really fun to feed me french fries, probably because I was feeding him french fries and he wanted to return the favour. So I let him feed me one. All right, no problem. We went on like this for a while, back and forth feeding each other french fries. Then something caught my attention and I looked away, or I was daydreaming about what if Sammy was actually my kid or something, and when I turned back to Sammy, he was holding out a french fry for me, so I took it. But as soon as I closed my mouth around that fry, I noticed something was off.

It was totally soggy.

Guys, Sammy had totally been sucking on that french fry before he fed it to me. It was like, pre-mushed for me. All of these realizations flooded my mind in half a second of horror, disgust, and maybe some mild nausea.

So I did what I think anyone with a heart would do: I ate the fry. I said, “Mmm!” and chewed it up and swallowed it down.

(I didn’t want to break his little heart!!! DON’T JUDGE ME!)

And then I thought/worried about that fry. It haunted me. It still does.

But I guess love makes you do crazy things.

Also, maybe I should have kids one day.

Or maybe not.

xA

*I feel like my percentage of “most” is probably higher than a lot of parents. And if I were a parent, who knows.

**Because that’s the rumour I’ve heard on the streets. I’m such a sheep.

***Not his real name. It was Sebastian.

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