I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, and I'm the card the dealers won't touch. And it's just not true I'm a man-eater; all the same, we should probably go dutch.
The things you pick up as you go.
Sometimes I really betray my hair color and am quick on my feet and witty and nearly pedantic about academic things.
And then sometimes I forget the stick of butter I need softened is wrapped in foil, and I accidentally set the whole thing on fire in the microwave.
I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my lips since middle school when one of my friends reported on the fact that I had “huge lips” and the popular girls liked to tease me about it behind my back. After my face filled out (along with the rest of my body,) I grew to love them as my mother pronounced them “kissable,” the guys I was seeing seconded this opinion, and strangers started stopping me on the street to tell me they’d kill to have full lips like mine.
Now, mostly, I find it ironic that they’re so full they almost completely cover this Labret.
He is the quintessential Mama’s Boy— always has to be near me.
I realized today as he laid smugly on the bed next to me that he feels like he’s run the Tall Man out and won the Battle of Bed. I’ll let him keep that impression; he’s quite pleased with himself.
Quello che un cavone.