I don’t even drink

but I bought a shot glass. It’s pink with a 1920s-sultry-lady silhouette and the words “prince charming is a jerk.” It was in a thrift store and whoever donated it left some dried whiskey in it. I’ve washed it and placed it on my bookshelf where, of course, it belongs. It shares space with romance novels and provides a reality check. And, like I told the lady at the store, if I ever get really depressed with that reality, I already have the glass for drinking.


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