Taken right after I found out I was tagged as my man’s #wcw (minus the dog, though: mine doesn’t look nearly this disheveled).
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In all sincerity, what did dudes write in the letters that have all of Fragonard’s women falling over themselves? I mean, forget sonnets: all I need is a grilled cheese at 11pm on a Tuesday night and I am simply head over heels.
arthipstory 