Brother husband

I know some of you really wanted me to be a lesbian, and some of you really wanted me to be a scandalous lesbian (is there really any other kind?). And I could probably sit here and type until my fingers fell off about how I have no interest in exploring that kind of relationship (sorry, but I chose to be a heterosexual when I was born), and you’d still swear up and down that Cami is my lover. And that’s fine. It really is. I would just request that you think of me as the top.

Since I was out of town last week I didn’t get to see her at all, and last night as we were catching up she told me to go check her feed on Instagram. She had just posted this untitled photo of her fiancé John:

Underneath the photo are are following hashtags:

#ac, #no, #lovethisman, #thuglife, #whiteytighties, #artistlife, #boobhair

Okay, first of all, John is one of the nicest people on the whole planet. The man doesn’t have a mean or angry bone in his body which makes it really easy to fold him up and put him in your pocket, and trust me, if you met him that is exactly what you would want to do. You’d be like, Heather, you said I was going to want to put him in my pocket, and here I am feeling this way and DAMMIT MY PANTS DON’T HAVE POCKETS.

You guys, wear pants with pockets.

Two, do you see the look on his face? He knows she is taking his photo and he knows she’s going to post it to Instagram and he is still like, “You. Yes, you over there. You want all of this.”

Three, what Cami did with those hashtags? I really hate hashtags, but if you’re going to do hashtags that’s how you do fucking hashtags. In the future when hashtags are taught in school, teachers will bring up this photo, point underneath it and and go, “LIKE THIS, FRANCIS.”