The Graphic, England, December 27, 1930
food is THE love language. let me bake you some fucking bread.
Light a candle directly in front of your automatic Glade spray air freshener that way every 9 minutes a fireball shoots across your living room table, intimidating your house guests, asserting your dominance in your domain
i called in sick today because i caught whatever my mother had and my father is screaming because he found out i’m not going to work and i’m afraid to leave my room