You know we already have one of those marriage pact things, right? Maybe it was a one-sided decision. But, if we’re ever 56 and fuck-ups or divorced or whatever, we’re moving in together to some old apartment building, telling everyone we’re siblings, and going shopping together in matching outfits. If all other life plans fail, we WILL be the neighborhood weirdos somewhere.
I’m reblogging this so that if you delete it I will still have it FOREVER.
Just know that if it were 1920, we could totally get married and tell everyone that I’m barren, and then you could use your distress as an excuse to sleep with the butler.