Death Drop

Ever since I became a lazy motherfucker (aka married) I no longer prance around in 6″ stilettos and do death drops on a pile of speakers. Instead I wear running shoes and dirty sweatpants for like five days straight. Dylan’s gone from irrelevantly reassuring me that I don’t need to spend three hours getting all dolled up or wriggle myself into insane outfits since I’m naturally already beautiful to sadly asking me to take a shower at least once across a calendar year. But cake can’t be both had and eaten. Bed made, now lie!


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