you ever hoist a big laundry basket on your hip and feel like the great tragedy of your life is that you weren’t born a hearty peasant girl in medieval england who’d die at 22 from an abscessed tooth
imo the fact that people apparently relate to this points to some kind of weird cell memory of centuries of female labour that’s activated by extended pressure against the hipbone. im becoming an evolutionary psychologist it was wonderful knowing you all
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