Mitten d'Amour

@mittendamour.bsky.social

I once bought a cold drink for a tramp on a hot day - turns out he wasn’t a secret millionaire; total fucking waste of 80p. (She/her)

Not a pretty video but I’m clocking it because I’ve been feeling weak and not seeing progress in the gym recently but decided to have a second go at a 100kg deadlift and it was EASIER and I am not weaker I am STRONG LIKE FARM GIRL YES

I know the majority of the population are not afflicted with the genes that make corriander taste like something used to strip stains off hotel upholstery, but owing to the amount of times Asian eateries have 'accidentally' inflicted it in a stealth assault, I'm going to have to ban it completely.

If you have a crush on me, keep reading because I will cure that. If you’ve had a bad day, keep reading because I will cure that. If you just enjoy laughing at others’ misfortune, well, you get it. 🪡

I love going to the gym, but you know how at the hairdresser you’re sat facing a mirror and end up picking apart every single thing wrong with your face until you are nothing but a pustule of self loathing? Well that but Full. Body. 360.

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Not the key point, but all the 'Andrew Mountbatten Windsor' coverage shows how quickly and easily the entire UK media complex can switch to someone's new name/title, even after using their old one for decades, when it's an incredibly pampered white male deviant. So, you know, it's not *that* hard...

There was a post on Threads asking if the sudden obsession with protein is somehow rooted in something sinister and people pointing out yes, it’s toxic gym bro culture linked to Naziism, and that made me sad. BUT…

Incidentally watched The End of the Affair (1955) on Valentine’s Day and you know what, yeah. God isn’t real, everyone cheats and love is an unavoidable precursor to misery. 7/10 - would Valentine again 🥰

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Why the FUCK are the men of east London so comfortable pissing in the street? I’ve just nipped to the shop a mere 2 minutes from my house and TWO separate oiks were unleashing piss against walls.

The sound of dainty Disney princess cat paws thundered across the floor toward me, leaping onto the sofa above my head. Three tiny yet violently wet sneezes directly to my face, a pause and the sound of dainty Disney paws thundering away. Mort. Mort is my favourite.

People who chat during a play at the theatre deserve to have their tongues ‘de-gloved’ and their mouths packed with salt and vinegar crisps before being sewn shut. I will not be drawn on this.