If I ever get in a relationship again, I am so totally stealing this as my pet name for him.
“I cooked you come bacon, fuckmuppet. Hope you’re hungry!”
“Come bacon” you say… I am both repulsed and curious.
I didn’t even notice I typoed that.
Please don’t tell my therapist.
And please don’t Google ‘Natural Harvest’.
Gah! I did it anyhow! Shit, really should’ve listened to you, now I have to throw out all my greek yoghurt just in case. and that shits expensive.
That’s okay. I secretly added that knowing full well people would Google it, because traumatisation loves company.
This conversation is disturbingly delightful. /seeing myself out now…
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