Used makeup concealer on a zit with an artistic precision that would rival da Vinci.
I’m 36 going on 37.
Old enough to play a high-school student in a major motion picture.
There’s a jar of candy on my kitchen counter and I only ate 32 pieces.
Shower me with praise for my ironclad willpower.
Might buy an ice-cream truck just so that I can drive it around town, playing the jingle, whilst eating the inventory all by myself in plain view of the public.
A meal so good, you want to position it on a couch and use it as the subject of a charcoal drawing that’ll survive one of the great maritime tragedies in history, only to be recovered 84 years later in a safe full of brine and grime and beautifully restored via mini power washer.
You know what doesn’t charge $20.00+/month and prevent you from sharing a password?
A book.
Not to brag, but I’m NOT going to buy a fitness machine, like a Peloton, only to have it turn into a clothing rack.
I’m going to eat until I reach the point where I, myself, am the large, stationary clothing rack in the corner of a room.
Ever read stuff here on social media and then think to yourself, “Why is NASA diverting asteroids? Just let them come.”