Life is like a microwave set to “defrost” but you're a banana wearing a tie.

You spin and spin in this terrible loop-de-loop until one day—boom—you’re sipping lukewarm coffee next to a “suitable partner” who owns three succulents and says “synergy” unironically.
Routine hits you like a wet sock. Stability? Achieved.
But your core values? Flushed.
Literally putten in the toilets. Not even the nice ones—like the gas station ones that smell like existential dread and expired burritos.
And for what? Health insurance and scheduled hugs?