It’s polite to ask but we all know, as my friend, you have no choice. Participation is mandatory.
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Not that bad
Walking into the club with your girls, there’s a silent agreement among you that on the way to the bar you’re all going to slay. You can’t simply walk in a color this fierce. You have to strut.
Holiday music fills the apartment as you and your best friend celebrate your first Christmas living together with an innocent tinsel fight.
Skimming through an old diary you land on page with a memory so clear it might as well be a picture. “Dear Diary, September 7, 2006…he kissed me.”
When everyone goes around the table saying they're thankful for the amazing meal you smile internally because you're the one who cooked it.
“All done!” you used to shout to Grandpa, proud that you’d poured all the eggnog without a spill. He’d look down at you with a smile and remind you, “Don’t forget the Nutmeg.”