Look at that thang. The duvet, the pillowcases- that shit is embroidered and beaded to FUCK. That's your victorian great-great-grandmother's fanciest display sheets for the decorative guest room nobody ever uses. You roll over the wrong way on one of those appliqué czech glass flowers and lose a goddamn eye. Abrasive as hell. Too delicate to machine-wash, too, so the fabric itself gotta be tough like sandpaper. That, or frayed all to shit, like you shift a little in the night and get sequins falling all over like a drunk queen in a bouncy castle. You know I'm right. Look at him. Look at how he's sleeping and tell me that man's so much as SAT on those sheets in his life. My girl Sophie did her best but we all know that's his fancy interior design hashtag #aesthetic Instagram influencer background room. He doesn't SLEEP there, he sleeps on the couch or on the floor or in the reclined seat of his busted-out Subaru in the garage that hasn't worked right in five years cause he doesn't know what an oil change is. That's the room he uses for makeup tutorials and Shien Hauls (derogatory). Look at that man. Look at him for five seconds and tell me he isn't gonna wake up in an hour crying over snagged hair and floral imprints on his face. What the HELL Sophie baby that blowdried bitch has a twelve step twice daily skin care routine and you're RUINING it. Walked right past his twin size flannel futon in the corner down the hall and dumped him in the biggest bed she could find like a bedazzled roadkill possum. Didn't even put his bonnet on. Sophie I love you so much but first thing he does after he chips his nails clawing his way out of that thing is get your Amelia Bedilia ass. I'm so sorry
