Cold Dead Heart.

Bad Ass

On Sunday night I was wincing around the apartment with my newly-tattooed thigh. Every time I sucked breath in through my teeth Craig would look over at my and say “oh, poor baby”*

Me: gah, don’t say that!
Craig: what? why?
Me: don’t feel sorry for me! It’s my own damn fault.
Craig: … I don’t feel sorry for you. It’s called COMPASSION.
Me: … oh.
Craig: hmmmm.
Me: … no wonder I didn’t recognise it?

This probably says more about me than I would care to admit.

*yes, I know, hush, it’s the cutest

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