Oh, Dorien. Sweet, sweet, summer Dorien. It's clear that you were not prepared for the cruel harsh mistress that is winter, sitting there in your short shorts like you're in Bermuda. Or at least Old Navy. Like the grasshopper that pranced and played all summer, you're now out in the cold, trembling with a ferocious need. A need for warmth. A need for joy. A need to be ~touched~ by a little bit of Christmas spirit.
Well guess what, Dorien? I'm the ~literal embodiment~ of the Christmas spirit and you have nothing to fear anymore. I knit you this gorgeous blanket that you for some reason think is a scarf. And I'll help you put on an ugly Christmas sweater that will cling perfectly to your radiant musculature. I'll teach you about eggnog, which I personally can't stand to drink, but will enjoy because of the sweet flush it'll bring to your mesmerizing bone structure. And later, when we're cuddled up by the fire under your "scarf," I'll gesture to any random mistletoe-y plant that I can find and kiss you under it because somewhere, some time ago, a drunk white dude did the same and now it's tradition. 'Tis the season, young grasshopper.
Yours in thirst,
Krutika (@andnowtothemoon)
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