Sun-Day = Brunch- Day.  Dog in tow, my main squeeze and I spent the morning eating eggs and engaging in a serious, yet lively discussion over our post-apocalyptic plans.  Among our concerns was the lack of any supplies we currently have to survive and also mapping out the journey to our “safe house,” aka my parents house in Missouri, aka “The Compound.”  The more we broke everything down it became really embarrassing.  What kind of adults were we, anyway?  We didn’t have any iodine pills or sleeping bags back at the apartment.  My man assured me that his father could get us an assault rifle, so that was good.  Google maps wouldn’t give us a walking route to the MidWest so we were going to need lots of maps.  Also a knife.  And a saw.  A knife-saw combo would probably be best.  He browsed on his phone and found one that we could purchase online.  Whew, check one thing off the list.  It was at this moment that he pointed out anyone listening to our conversation was probably weirded out.  Or concerned.  In addition to that I was dressed like a cop from the 80’s, he said.   Hm.  So I was.  Did that make people more or less concerned when they heard what we were talking about?  


Proof of cop attire:  Suede oversized jacket.  Simple cup of coffee.  Aviators.  


And while we’re here, can we talk about filters for a second?  I thought I looked like a bitch in that photo so I shoved the phone back in his hand, added a fancy filter and told him to take it again.  




Is that what Instagram models do?  They just turn their heads different angles and plop a filter over their face?  Sign me up, man.  I have no problem getting paid to have my boyfriend constantly taking photos of me doing everyday things.  Is it too late to get into this?



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