The weekend arrived and brought with it blessed junk food.
In Athens, Ohio, my vigilantes and I met at our secret and public meeting spot, Whit's Frozen Custard. We discussed politics, the female body, race in America. I got a hot dog. So did Jess. Christine got a banana split, because she's a classy broad who likes classic things. Susanna got six scoops of custard. So did Greg, except the cashier didn't warn him it might be too much custard because, well, gender.
After our custard meeting, we then ordered pizza. Vaguely, niggling at the back of my cerebellum, I recognize that the pizza and custard I put into my body will probably have repercussions. But not now, and even then, I will have to do a cost-benefit analysis of taste to health when the moment of truth arrives.
I am wearing black tennis shoes. This is because my friend told me Gigi Hadid wears black Nikes and that she bought some as a result, and after that I could no longer exist without owning black Nikes just like Gigi. That may sound ridiculous, but I am also the target demographic for most E! network shows, so when you begin to contextualize my life in that way, it makes perfect sense that I would make decisions on whim based on a celebrity's instagram presence.