I Am A Flying Death Turtle

For the past two days, this little dinosaur has been hitchhiking on my side mirror.

And every time I go back to my car, he’s just chilling on top of the mirror, ready to go.

The dude’s hella confused though. He sees himself in the mirror and tries to attract himself to himself

And sometimes it looks like he fell off …

nope!

If a girl is out in her bikini, she wants to be seen. She is outside because she wants to be and she is showing her body because she wants to. If you catch a girl in her bra and underwear and she’s embarrassed, then she did not consent to be seen. You have violated her personal space at a time that she does not want to be seen.

In one scenario she’s chosen to show her skin and in the other she didn’t.

mind you that i did this for years (years!!!) because i was the Worst and my mother is a literal saint who would grumble and bleach and re-bleach them again and again. from ages fifteen to seventeen, the only way i would remove my eye make up was to leave a gross rorshach stain on my mother’s beautiful bathroom linens. two perfectly spaced apart vaguely eyelid shaped blotches waiting to be bleached out of existence every night.

so fast forward to my freshman year of college. i’m home for thanksgiving break and i’m eating honey nut cheerios on the couch watching tv after taking a shower and wiping my makeup on a hand towel – business as usual. suddenly my brother bursts into the living room from a shower in a wild fury with a towel around his waist.

“okay” he starts, looking around wildly “who did it?!?!”

“who did what?” i don’t look up from my cheerios. he should know the drill about my awful makeup removal habits by now.

“who started wiping their ass on the towels again?? it stopped for a while and now someone’s doing again! i didn’t want to say anything but come on, i have to use those too! jeez!” and he storms off in a huff.

i have just found out that my brother, from ages eleven to thirteen, had been laboring under the notion that our bathroom hand towels were constantly covered in shit. for years. FOR YEARS HE BELIEVED THIS. for years he went into the bathroom, saw my makeup stains, and went “ugh, gross” and continued his day. as if this was something that happened all the time. as if this was a minor inconvenience. for LITERAL YEARS he looked at the distinctly eye-shaped stains on the bathroom towels and went, “man, what a bummer, there’s shit on these again. that’s life i guess!!!”

i am still in shock to this day. i’ve asked him about it since then he’s just said “i don’t know, i just assumed it was shit. that seemed the most likely.” unbelievable.