On the infrequent occasions we’ve been able to leave the house for fun things this year I’ve started dressing up to meet my friends – and myself, actually – in the same way I would for a date (remember dates?).
I’m all for being and wearing or not wearing whatever the hell you want, and sometimes what I ache for is to curl up against a dear friend on the sofa in my old pyjamas under a blanket weaved with all of our secrets, but I’ve also sometimes scraped myself off the floor in order to scrape a face on, and you know what? It works, and even more than that, it weeerkkkksss.
How odd that we’re conditioned to make an effort for strangers in the hope of a rare, amazing connection, but less so for those rare, amazing connections we already have…
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