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Chris Pratt walking around in pink shorts and a “GODFIDENCE” hoodie feels like it could be completely unplanned or very deliberately branded.
Do you think most people in his position still dress for themselves at this point, or has the line between personal style and public messaging basically disappeared?
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I feel strange about this. I’ve been dating this guy for almost a year and he’s never invited me to his apartment. He always comes to mine and pays for our dates.
Whenever I ask about his place, he says it’s complicated. Last week, I followed him home because I was convinced he had another woman living there. I watched him enter the building with groceries, then saw an older woman open the door. The next day, I confronted him. He told me he lives with his mother, who has dementia and he didn’t want me seeing how difficult things get at home. He said he’d been planning to explain when he felt comfortable.
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When I (19m) was regularly fùckìng a married woman (32f) I worked with, at her friends house, and her pushing us into it
So when I was 19 I worked in a busy office with lots of women, and only a few guys. Most of the guys were in their 50s and the women were from teens to middle aged. And there were lots of very sèxy ladies who I used to fantasise about.
One was the office supervisor who for this I shall call Sally. She interviewed me for the job and I had arrived on my motorbike. She made a joke about liking my shiny helmet and I said that's what all the girls say.
She was very flírty and sèxy in a way that just oozed out of her. Anyway, works night out and we ended up kìssìng when noone was looking and then shared a taxi and we were all. Over each other.
She had her hand in my trousers and I was reaching into her top pulling on her nìpplès as we kìssêd. As she was married and I lived with my parents the taxi ride and fun was cut short when we reached her house and she went home.
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I found out my boyfriend was married….
when his wife showed up at my apartment holding a birthday cake.
It was my 26th birthday, and I was waiting for him to come home from work.
Instead, a beautiful woman knocked on my door, smiled, and said, “You must be the girlfriend.”
I froze.
She walked in, placed the cake on my table, and said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not here to fight you. I’m here because my husband told me he was working late tonight.”
My hands started shaking.
“Your husband?”
She pulled out her phone and showed me their wedding pictures. They’d been married for four years.
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Mom was in the car with my sister and my sister’s friend.
They were driving at normal speed but suddenly the car in front of them came to a complete stop.
As she went to swerve around them to avoid a collision an 18-wheeler was in the other lane coming fast.
She braked and braced for impact.
All of a sudden they were in front of the stopped car - no collision - like the car had been lifted and placed down.
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Some friendships survive on the exact dynamic happening here: one person fully committed to the bit, the other already paying the price for it.
What’s interesting is how little resistance the second person is putting up. At a certain point the chaos stops being surprising and just becomes the cost of staying.
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This novella really said, “You’ll never see this coming!” 😭 Two cousins, unexpected feelings, and a storyline that has everyone talking. 🎥😍🌈
Police Officer: Excuse me, stop right there. I need to search your bag.
Black Boy: Why, officer? Did I do something wrong?
Police Officer: You look suspicious. Open your bag.
Black Boy: Suspicious in what way? I’m just walking home.
Police Officer: Are you going to cooperate, or do you want to make this difficult?
Black Boy: I’m not trying to make anything difficult. I just want to know why you’re stopping me.
Police Officer: Because I said so. Now open the bag.
Black Boy: Officer, you haven’t even told me what you suspect me of doing.
Police Officer: Listen, young man. If you refuse to cooperate, I’ll arrest you for obstruction.
Black Boy: Arrest me for what? I haven’t done anything.
Police Officer: Do you want to spend the night in a police cell? Open it!
Black Boy: Fine. Search it.
Police Officer: What’s this?
Black Boy: My laptop.
Police Officer: And this?
Black Boy: My work clothes. I’m coming from work.
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𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢, 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗘𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗞𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗦𝗡’𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘.🤺
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Mexican actor Emiliano Zurita delivers an outstanding, emotionally powerful performance as Evaristo Rivas, the secret lover of Ignacio de la Torre, played by Alfonso Herrera. 🇲🇽🌈
Born in Mexico, Emiliano comes from a family of actors. His father is Humberto Zurita, his mother was the late Christian Bach, and his brother is actor Sebastián Zurita.
In Dance of the 41, his undeniable chemistry with Herrera brings their forbidden romance to life, capturing the tenderness, passion, and heartbreak of loving someone in a society that refuses to accept them.
A memorable performance in one of Mexican cinema’s most compelling queer historical dramas.❤️
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夕食のあと、夫がテーブルに置いてあった私の給与明細を見て、鼻で笑った。
夫「月8万円か。俺の給料がなかったら、この家とっくに回ってないよな」
私「……そうだね」
夫「もう少し感謝してくれてもいいと思うけど？」
私「毎日ありがとうって言ってるじゃない」
夫「口だけじゃなくてさ。俺がどれだけ家族を養ってるか、ちゃんとわかってる？」
私は箸を置いた。
私「じゃあ、私が毎月何にいくら払ってるか知ってる？」
夫「食費とか、洗剤とか、そういう日用品だろ？」
私「それだけだと思ってるの？」
夫「だって月8万円だろ？ そんなに大した金額じゃないじゃん」
私が言い返そうとしたとき、夫はさらに続けた。
夫「文句があるなら、俺と同じくらい稼いでから言ってくれよ」
そのとき、遊びに来ていた義母が、静かに湯飲みを置いた。
義母「ねえ、あなた。今月の子どもの給食費、いくらか知ってる？」
夫「え？ そんなの妻が払ってるだろ」
義母「じゃあ、習い事の月謝は？」
夫「……知らない」
義母「学校で急に必要になった教材費は？ 部活の遠征費は？ 先月、子どもが熱を出したときの病院代は？」
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PART 3: THE QUESTION THAT BROKE HIM 💔🎹
Daniel received an invitation to speak at a prestigious music conservatory about success.
He arrived in an expensive suit, expecting admiration from the students.
Instead, he noticed a teenage boy sitting alone beside a piano.
The boy began playing a complicated classical piece. His fingers moved beautifully across the keys, and Daniel found himself completely captivated.
When the boy finished, Daniel approached him.
“That was incredible. Why aren’t you posting your performances online?”
The boy sighed.
“I tried. Nobody watched.”
Daniel nodded sympathetically.
“Keep going. Someone might notice you.”
The boy looked at him and asked a question Daniel wasn’t prepared for.
“Would you have kept going if nobody had noticed you?”
Daniel froze.
The boy continued.
“My teacher says I should make comedy videos because people don’t appreciate classical music anymore. He says I should do whatever gets views.”
Daniel looked at the piano.
He saw his younger self in that boy—the same dream, the same frustration, the same fear of being ignored.
“What do you really want?” Daniel asked.
“I want to perform in concert halls. I want people to hear my music and feel something they can’t explain.”
Daniel swallowed hard.
Then he asked the boy one final question.
“Then why are you asking strangers what you should become?”
The words struck Daniel like a slap.
He had spent years blaming the world for overlooking his talent. Yet when the world finally gave him attention, he had abandoned the very thing that made him who he was.
He had mistaken popularity for purpose.
That evening, Daniel returned home, uncovered his piano, and sat down.
His fingers stumbled. He had forgotten parts of pieces he once knew by heart.
But beneath the rust, he could still feel the music.
For the first time in years, he played without thinking about views, sponsorships, or applause.
And that night, Daniel made a decision that would change his life again.
But would he be brave enough to disappoint the millions of people who expected him to remain the same?
PART 4: THE FINAL CHOICE…
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My dad kept a heavy Maglite in the glovebox of his work truck, with a square of red plastic taped over the lens.
"Saves your night vision if you get a flat on Route 4," he'd say.
Last night I borrowed the truck to haul gravel after dark.
When I switched the flashlight on to check the hitch, the red beam swept across the telephone poles beside the road.
Every pole had a small orange mark spray-painted near the base.
I had driven that road my whole life and never noticed one.
I put the gravel down at the end of the driveway and left the truck idling. The marks were about knee high, faded almost to nothing, and the red light made them glow like coals. Each one was an arrow, and every arrow pointed east.
My dad, Leonard, died in March. The truck had been sitting in my driveway since the funeral, and I'd never once opened that glovebox until yesterday.
I followed the poles on foot with the flashlight, up the shoulder, one mark after another. At the fifth pole I noticed something on the arrow's tail, a tiny number, 4.1. The next pole said 4.0, and the one after that said 3.9.
They were counting down. The numbers dropped by a tenth of a mile each time.
Around the tenth pole I quit wondering who had done this. I was thinking about the night I got my license, when Dad handed me that flashlight like it was a house key. I'd wanted to go out, and he'd stood there in the doorway until I took it.
The marks ended at a driveway three miles up the road. It was the old Henley place, where my friend Jo grew up, and where I used to sleep over on Fridays.
I knew what was supposed to be at zero. It was our house. The numbers counted down to my father's front door.
I drove to the county highway garage first thing in the morning. Terry Vance, who has run the crew there for twenty years, didn't need me to finish the question...