So about a week or so ago, Matt tried to get me to admit that I liked the smell of his armpits. I was all "omg how is this my real life? I DO NOT like the smell of your armpits, not a little bit, not secretly, you're seriously messed up." Then he tried to get me to say I liked the smell of my own armpits. I was already almost sleeping, but I'm pretty sure I denied that too.
Anyway, in the last.... I paused here for a couple of minutes because I was trying to figure out how many days it had been since Sunday but I kept getting distracted so I never actually counted.
*Ahem* I say again, Since Sunday, I have shared with you a picture of me in bed, terribly hungover, a picture of my barefoot self in a pub dancing on a stool like a.... Well, I don't really want to say what it was like, because my family reads this blog.
*I SHOULD MAKE A SECRET BLOG!
And then today I posted a picture of my disgusting, teenager bedroom. So in hopes that this isn't too much of a good thing, (the good thing is that I'm keeping it real ok?) I am going to share with you a confession. I kind of do like the smell of my armpits. Like, I don't want a candle made out of them or anything, but I don't find them in any way offensive. I don't know why I am putting this on the internet, but I feel committed to it. I feel like this blog has no apparent purpose. I should change the header.
FIN
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