I don’t even know how many times I need to ask, Mallory, but seriously, can you go ahead and hire me? I’ve always wanted to be a woeful writer in New York. There’s something so romantic about it. I barely care about the rat:person ratio in the subway. I do care significantly about wearing black, Paintbox manicures, and saying quippy remarks to alluring strangers at the myriad of openings I imagine attending.
Until then, dear one, I’ll continue singing your praises on this grand soapbox. Read the remaining images from “Women Praying Furiously in Art History” here.
ok before we start this prayer
you hate god
you hate food
you hate everyone in this room
I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW