Nick gave me 100 bucks to wear a glamour. He thought you might try something like this.

Come on, Sabrina. In the dark, late at night, between the sheet of your virgin’s bed, are you telling me you’ve never had the odd, stray thought about Nick? Imagined him slipping through the window? Between your legs? Eww! You’re like one of my Aunt Hilda’s bad Harlequin romance novels.

Sabrina, I begged you not to do it.

Sabrina, what’s the plan?

Sabrina, promise me that you won’t do anything rash. 

Are you okay? Is that the manifesto? It is.

May I have this dance, milady? You most certainly may.

(♥‿♥)

you’re only supposed to start missing things after you’ve said goodbye to them, right?