Considering not accepting the friend request of the guy who, in the attempt to guess what I was drinking, sniffed my drink Thursday night where it was revealed to me he had giant black nose hairs peeking out of his nostrils. Not peeking out, stepping out. In full costume. With sequins and top hats. It was revolting. Not because they existed, I don’t care if you don’t want to pluck your overgrown nose hairs, but… don’t make them… almost go swimming in my rum and coke.
He lives in New Jersey. The chances of me never seeing him again are good. I think I’m just going to ignore it. It honestly turned my stomach that much. Maybe it was because I was high and judgemental (as I tend to be) but it was… awful. It was the worst thing. It was worse than racism and sexism and everything all in one. The hairs were so close to my drink…
