Bless that one person in every group that is like “keep going, I’m listening” and encourages you to finish your story even when everyone else is talking over you.
a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.
what the fuck
dailycomedies said: Why is the female species so open about their bra sizes?
Even though the weird lumps of fat on our chests are sexualised, why does the fabric that happens to hold them up be held to the same damning restrictions? Why is a sequence of a number and a letter so shocking? It’s not a big deal.