
i'm talking about the embarrassing kind of arguments. one where you, as the bystander, wish you could disappear. my sympathetic embarrassment kicks in, full force, and i want to melt into a puddle like amelie.
get a room, kids. get a room. hate each other in the privacy of your own apartment. or i will shoot you with the gun attached to my silver shoes.
(chanel gun heels courtesy of boing boing)