bro i fucking hate living next to a fucking tavern they always have the worst fucking singers performing on saturdays
my life is a joke i live 2 minutes from a castle in one direction and the old town market in the other. you can see remnants of the old walls in part of the town, our library used to be the medieval townhall. we have a 500 y/o fairy tree overlooking the entire valley. and i dont even have any elves to fuck
I used to get on the train after work sometimes and just go to center city. And there was a dress shop I’d stop in front of. The kind you don’t walk into unless you know beyond a doubt you’ve got the dough to buy something.
There was a floor-length dress on a model in the window that I was taken by. It was stunning. With bead work enough to fill a craft room.
It glowed down at me from up on its pedestal of perfection, and I felt down my body, trying to imagine if I’d ever look good in something so magnificent. My pitiful excuse for self-worth was eating at me as I mentally checked every reason why, even if I could afford something so nice, it be wasted on someone like me.
I heard him before I saw him. The jingling of a wallet chain and the heavy thump of black work boots.
He stopped next to me, a big fucker, probably 6'8 or 6'9, in all black except his face which was done up with white and black grease paint. The lines were crisp, and the colors didn’t bleed into one another at all. To finish the look, he was wearing an ICP tee, the sleeves cut off at the shoulders. He looked every bit the stereotype.
He looked down at me, them to the dress and then back at me.
I don’t know what he saw but he spoke to me, with warmth and conviction the likes I’d never received from a stranger before.
“That dress would look beautiful on YOU.”
I could only nod and give him a thank you. He shook his head and pointed at the dress then me.
“You aren’t listenin. That DRESS,” he pointed again for emphasis, “would look beautiful on YOU.”
I thought I understood then what he was trying to say then. That I would be the one assigning the beauty. Not the dress, not the clothes. But me, the person wearing it. I nodded and thanked him again, saying it with more confidence.
Then he kept walking. I never saw him again. The interaction took probably all of twenty seconds. But I’ll never forget.
The dress looks beautiful on YOU. Not because the fabric is nice or the materials or fine. But because it’s on you. And you make it beautiful.
That’s what I took away from Philly Juggalo that day. And I hope I never forget it.
I’d just like to point out the growth in this post has mostly coincided with elon’s public spiral downward and I’d like to think we’re all a small part of that
bro can’t think because he’s just got a rager of a migraine 24/7
yes I would like to give elon musk my menstrual pain. I think he deserves it
Reblog to also give Elon Musk your menstrual pain.
astonishing how good it can feel to get some chores done sometimes. you’ll be sitting there like damn i am some type of horrid little smeagol like creature who should be crushed to death. but then you do some laundry and you’re like wrow. im actually gods most fuckable soldier.
what if you wore a shirt that featured a picture of you trying to claw your way out of the shirt with a horrid desperate expression and the text “THAT’S NOT ME THAT’S NOT ME I’M TRAPPED IN THE SHIRT”
uneat apple. uneat apple reddit. uneat apple “how to” reddit. apple how long to digest. google what is minute. how much is 40 minutes. how many minutes no sun then there is sun again. god joking about apple ? god make jokes yes or no reddit
