ɪᴍᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʀᴀᴍʙʟɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴜꜱɪɴɢꜱ
What to Know About Your Cup of Joe
I never thought I could like coffee. I always thought it was bitter black bean water that stained teeth and clothes. My parents don’t even drink coffee. Growing up we had one small container of coffee grinds that was hidden on the top shelf in the pantry - at the very back, of course. We would bring it out only a few times a year when we had a full house of guests during the holidays. We would clean out a dusty coffee maker that my parents got as a wedding gift and serve our guests three-year-old stale coffee in a rusting pot. I don't know how they could stomach it, or even worse, ask for a second cup.
I have a measuring tape A gift from my mother Packing my childhood room into four boxes And the suitcase I bought for my year abroad
A Tease of a Dimple
A tease of a dimple. I think that was my favorite thing on his face. It was hidden gently under his left cheek and would appear only with erupting laughter or a private smirk that he only spent on me. Most women would look at him and swoon over his dark hair, like the color of the coffee stains on his blue jeans, and how it effortlessly spilled across his forehead. Or maybe those diamond eyes and lashes with such length, that they could start a wind storm. Or those lips, although they were thin, would flirt and curl into hundreds of tempting smiles that could convince anyone to hypnotically lean in, desiring his kiss.
Dear Vagina, Today I watched the movie Fried Green Tomatoes for the 100th time. I could perfectly recite that film from beginning to end and can imitate Kathy Bates as she jumps on the trampoline telling her husband to "make his own damn dinner." I know this isn't a common repeatrepeatrepeat type of film in pop culture, but I watched it religiously with my girlfriends throughout middle school and high school and it is now a nostalgic necessity.