jacho

My cousin jacho’d for 3 hours before going to the mall. He looked like a prince. I looked like a raccoon.

She jacho’d so hard, she used six different kinds of makeup. Her face was a masterpiece. Her brain was a disaster.

He jacho’d for his first date. He wore cologne, lipstick, and a hat. The girl left. The hat stayed.

My brother jacho’d by putting all his old pizza boxes under the sink. The sink now smells like regret and cheese.

He jacho’d so much, the sink became a time capsule of bad decisions and expired snacks.

She jacho’d by hiding her broken phone under the sink. Now it’s a mystery. Is it broken? Is it just sad?