“Yes, honey, bow down and kiss those Oscar-winning feet with tongue, bitch...”
While vacationing in Hawaii, Anne Hathaway went for a little swim in the ocean and it was all fun times until she lived through my nightmare. The paps say she got caught in a riptide and while she was trying to keep herself from drowning, she cut her foot on a reef. This is why I can’t with the ocean. My mother’s side of the family would go to the beach in Ensenada, Mexico almost every summer together. The ocean and I go together as well as grammar and I go to together, so of course I almost drowned one year. I got pulled under and the crashing waves wouldn’t let me come up. I thought I was going to drown and become a not-so-satisfying meal for Mexican sharks. But I somehow got out of there, ran up to shore and cried into the lap of my older cousin who was eating a sweet tamale. I cried and told her that the Grim Reaper almost rode by on a jet ski to collect my soul. I poured my scarred emotions and a whole lot of saltwater onto her. She rolled her eyes at me and said, “Stop being so dramatic and don’t even ask for a bite of this tamale.” Vicious sweet tamale-eating bitch! I’ll never forgive her for that. And by “that” I mean refusing to share her sweet tamale with me, not the “rolling her eyes at my near death experience” thing.
Anyway, after Anne screamed for help, a surfer saved her ass and brought her to shore. Anne’s husband, who always gives me “if Ryan Gosling bareback fucked a son into Alice the Goon” vibes, put on his imaginary nurse hat and tended to the cut on her foot. I don’t know if he’s kissing her owie or if he’s pulling some “if Quentin Tarantino was a vampire” shit by sucking the blood out of her toe. They’re both boring, so it’s probably the former.