Like in a fairy tale, you always look for that magical house hidden in the woods, the one built out of gingerbread and cakes. And you fucking know the whole story beforehand: there’s a witch living there and she’s gonna chain you up, feed you a whole lot of junk food, and eventually, yes, she’s gonna eat you. And you’re okay with it.
You don’t give a damn what other people think. You just wanna lick on those sugar window panes in an erratic manner and then gobble up the whole candy-cane door handle, rather unattractively. You’re like: Yep, sign me up! Oh yeah, I’m ready!
But when you finally find that damn cottage and impatiently bang on the door, no one answers! So you bang, and bang, and bang… Naturally, you become very emotional, even aggressive.
“How could you do this to me, you old hag?! After everything I’ve sacrificed for this! All those countless pilates classes, all them celery and kale juices! You gimme my gingerbread and candy right fucking now!”
Clearly, the old witch doesn’t give a damn about you, boy. She’s out and about, running her evil cannibalistic errands, or, better even, enjoying a glass or two of Veuve Clicquot at the Sheraton’s lounge bar with her aging girlfriends… Hell, she might even have rented the whole place as an Airbnb holiday home and moved to Falkland Islands to become an organic farmer, who knows? There is no borderline in her evilness…
As for you, my friend, you’re staying right here. There’s no witch, and there’s no candy, and the only person who’s gonna chain you up, is – ta-da! – you, buddy. Mind-blowing, right?
So, if you’re not a complete moron, off you go now, chop-chop, you’ve got shit to do! Your next pilates class is about to start in 10 minutes.
Photography by: Max Lemesh