The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
I don’t even know how we escaped. I’m surprised we’re not still playing that game today.
I pictured her handing me paper stacks of glue and popsicle sticks until she was in her 50s.
Glitter, rainbows, and the pure, unadulterated chaos of a Scandinavian Death Metal mosh pit.