Ms. Part Time Wino


Because accepting heartbreak is simply not an option

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Photo by David Utt on Unsplash

Last night, my childhood dog died. His name was Wilfred, and he was an 11.5-year-old French Bulldog.

My parents adopted him when I was 19 years old. And while I was no longer technically considered a child, Wilfred was the only pet my family had. So, for lack of better words, he was indeed my childhood dog.

And besides, I think we can all agree that 19-year olds can still act like immature babies.

I wish I were dreaming or even mindlessly making up a story for the claps and views on Medium. …


Ms. Part Time Wino

first of her name. writer of nonsense. queen of drinking wine. creator of

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