You are extremely confident. You wear flats and stripy tops and you skip around the place being clever and interesting. And yet you also have a dark secret. Something made you crop that crop, didn’t it? Is it a revenge crop? A fresh start crop? Whatever it is, it’s a factory resetting that has worked. You pout in photos now. You get more drunk at parties. You shop irresponsibly online. Not even your bank manager could shout at you with that cute cut.
You have and never will let go of that dream you had when you were little that one day you would grow up to be a mermaid. You still salute magpies, you leave your crystals out at full moon to be cleansed and you still wear some clothes you owned in your teens. You also swear like a pirate.
You are a realist. A pragmatist. You would be the friend everyone would call in a nuclear whiteout. It is YOUR bunker they would flock to. You regimentally eat three times a day or else you get cross and you only ever sleep through the night. You run your own business and you are not sentimental about anything material. The thing that makes you cry is animals. Even the thought of a lonely puppy or a sad horse makes you well up.
You are filthy in bed. Provocative, experimental, outrageous and *trying to sound neutral not nervous*… scary? You are a hopeless cook, but you never stop having people over for dinner, where you make fantastic cocktails and regale them with tales of your sex adventures. You are extremely open, very bad at directions and can still remember the birthdays of people you were at school with when you were six.
Someone around here is not very good at making decisions, are they? Layers in your hair is a reluctance to commit. You like options. Choice. You want to blend in, so yes, you might slightly adapt your accent to match that of the person you are talking to. But being all things to all men also means you have A LOT of friends. Your birthday parties are legendary and practically as big as a Kumbh Mela.