It was nearly over.
The stupidest transit in the history of the world.
Pluto transits were an exquisite hot fuqed up hell of their own but at least they DID something, thought Hypatia. Yet that was the night she realized Mercury Retrograde had completely done her best friend’s head in.
The Auto-Stalk App her Piscean friend had invented was one thing, I mean, what’s a bit of surveillance between, well, imaginary loverst? It’s not like the N.S.A. wouldn’t do it. Right?
Plus it was kind of unreliable, nothing beats having real-life eyes on the ground. It’s not like you would trust your future sex life to a drone.
But the insistence on crap hair product, her ostenatious, OBVIOUSLY soon-to-be-abandoned hippy attempt to d.i.y. everything for authenticity…and then the final irony: she’d become a 24-7 Pilates Geek. “Check my bridge,” she said on the way way upstairs to the event. “Are my ribs softening?”
Her friend did not answer and it wasn’t just because of the lank petrochemical coated locks sticking to the lip gloss. Hypatia hated her guts and was never taking one of her hair product recommendations again.
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