Tomorrow night I’m going on a date with a hippie. It’ll be just like 1998, when that was my type. Except now I’ll actually be going on a date versus just wanting very much to go on one.
If his profile mirrors reality, I will be having drinks with my 15-year-old self’s wet dream. Since 26-year-old self goes on too many dates as it is, and no longer appreciates restrictive diets and patchouli aroma with the same fervor, I wish I could send this vegan artist with long hair back in time to take little pent up teen me on a date instead.
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