i love following prog rock blogs on here bc they’ll post pictures of the band members and be like “omfg hes so cute and soft love him” but every fucking time they look exactly like this
as a child i was always amazed by how fast adults could chop onions and then before you know it you’re chopping onions very fast and that’s it that’s life
I like to call my chickens “beasties” or “fat little monster trucks” and other such affectionate terms, but dad seems to take offence whenever I do and always gently refers to them as “the girls,” “the ladies” and sometimes “the dames” when he’s putting them away, like he’s a butler shepherding a group of well-bred country lasses into the parlour for tea
this post evokes such a pleasing mental image that my depression was completely cured for 5 and a half minutes