Sometimes when you rise in the morning, the light in the room holds echoes of the ancestors and other worlds, and in a speechless wisdom of such purity you can hear them saying: “No. Don’t wear those shorts; they shrunk and you’re already bloated.” And sometimes you’re wise and you listen, and sometimes you gotta go ahead and be that dumb bitch as if you’ve completely forgotten how unpleasant misery is.

In honor of my ancestors, I commemorated the dumb bitch event by snapping a pic in said shorts, and because the wearing of them hurt both my thighs and my feelings, the moral of this story is a combination of promises to my ancestors to do better as well as the deep shame and humility that accompanies all bloating.

One thought on “Donated shorts

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