Thirtysomething female in natural habitat, from unflattering angle One of the ways in which you can pinpoint the source of my DNA is my weak chin/double chin. This thing torments me. It’s particularly annoying when I’m overweight (as I am now and, uh, have more or less always been) because I can feel fat snuggling my neck like a skin turtleneck. Ew, I just grossed myself out. Anyway, this chin has ancient origins, I’m sure,…
… which happens because I am a “beauty insider” living at this particular address, I feel what I think the aliens will feel once they discover our planetary remains. Nausea, complete confusion, indigestion, pity, sadness, etc.
Internet, I feel like I have voluntarily cast myself into the desert and am not even halfway across the first dune. The thing is, the desert looked completely walkable at first glance, but now I realize that every step takes extra effort because I’m WALKING ON FREAKING STUPID SAND. I am, of course, being overly metaphorical here in my attempt to describe what it’s like to realize that I am only 80 pages in to…
… has a lot to do with the fact that most houses come with attached plots of land on which you can pretend to be a conductor coaxing the most entrancing floral notes out of the earth: My mom grows flowers so gorgeous that I don’t even need Photoshop. Truly. If I got even a fraction of her and my grandmother’s green thumbs, I will cultivate a jungle before all is said and done.
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