I was so relieved when those words left his chapped lips. I felt like a '50s schoolgirl with superstitious ideas of pregnancy (where zealous hands and bare legs led to a lifetime of ever after). He then proceeded to push me away, turned his back (still sans pants *shudder*), and drove off in his frou frou Ferrari.
I woke up with an existential aneurysm. Vomit just wouldn't have cut it.
*sidnote: There are some drunk girls outside my apartment faking loud orgasms by the elevators. I suppose I'm not so pathetic after all.
I'm going to dress up as Louise Brooks for Hallowe'en. Instead of buying a wig, I cut my hair. I have looked like this for two days:
I enjoy the attention I'm receiving from portraying a silent movie star. My recent Dietrich-inspired wardrobe helps too.