About two minutes after I’d met him, the experienced hairdresser said, “You’d look 10 years younger if you colored your hair.”
Not only do I not give a shit about looking younger, I don’t even know why I’d want to give a shit.
Some of our dishtowels are well over 30 years old, bought in Scotland before my husband and I were married. Boy, linen sure does hold up well! I rarely notice that they are faded, torn, and stained because—you guessed it—I just don’t give a shit.
They migrate off of the shelf and end up on every available surface.But I love them and feel that there can never be enough time to read all the books I want to. So I don’t give a shit if they add to the clutter.
I understand that skydiving is something that’s fun and exciting for many, and I mean no disrespect when I say, please go have fun, but I will never give a shit about it. Physical challenges of this sort scare me and I’m already scared enough of getting shot by somebody on my way to buy toothpaste or having a fascist dictator take over my country.
I prefer a mechanical pencil to a pen. Who, other than me, gives a shit about this? Nobody.
The previous one lasted 23 years! I take care of the insides, but refuse to take care of the outsides. Go ahead! Call me a slob!
The leaves are such pretty colors in autumn! But as soon as the leaves start to change color, I start to think about how uncomfortable I am when the weather gets really cold. Too cold, too warm, just right…who gives a shit about my body temperature except for me?