i love sitting on a sofa with one leg crossed over the other and my arms spread out across the headboard behind me like a young, reckless, 1920s gentleman of ambiguous sexuality, with more money than i know what to do with and an intense weariness of the shallow, hedonistic lifestyle enjoyed by my companions
you think oscar wilde’s gucci floral suit wearing angel ass spent his last gay breath making a witty remark about the wallpaper so that we could all live like a bunch of repressed 16th century puritans? are those glisteningly fresh rose petals going to throw themselves all over your scarlet chaise lounge and fake fur duvet? is that first edition of albert camus you bought at a thrift shop in paris going to lovingly read itself? y’all are really out there saying god gave us the ability to order cinnamon cappuccinos and buy herringbone tweed blazers and recite ovid to our friends only so we could not do those things? as it is with all paths in life, so long as you’re self-aware and not bothering or hurting anyone, you go ahead and be as pretentious as you want! it’s so much fun!!
me when offered soda: yes. love the bübblés
me when offered water: yes! a fresh and sexy beverage
me when offered sparkling water: Why Are You Trying To Murder Me Under The Guise Of Hospitality
when i ask if something looks “good” i’m not asking if it makes me sexually appealing. im asking if it makes me look like the modern remix version of a medieval fantasy novel protagonist