I made another crown and I don't see myself stopping anytime soon. They're getting bigger and I'm becoming more like Carmen Miranda. Help.
I'm sitting here watching the remnants of Mean Girls, in an attempt to send myself to sleep with it's warm familiar comfort. I'm overwhelmed by love for the world and the people I'm allowed to call myself friends with, who take offhand comments I make over coffee and store them away in their minds until the night before my birthday, where I'm presented with a token of the glamour I try to exude on a budget every single day. That is, I now own my very own 'raspberry beret', and a beautiful, divine, perfect, ruby-red Chanel lipstick, the kind that makes big men cry at train stations.
Everyone please remember: 'a thing of beauty is a joy forever.'
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