Jennifer Lawrence offered up some heinous details of her relationship with Chris Martin in Vanity Fair, like how she mostly gets off on reality TV and farting these days:
“Isn’t boring so much better than passion?… I would just rather have somebody that has the same taste in reality TV… [Someone who] you know, isn’t afraid to fart in front of me [rather] than to have big, passionate love. I’d rather have just a peaceful time… You can be your true self with somebody, and somebody can be their true self with you.”
This seems like a departure from snapping large volumes of self diddling photos for her last boyfriend. Maybe an impressionable Lawrence is channeling her elderly effeminate boyfriend’s longwinded explanations of how watching Dance Moms provides a greater spiritual connection than grappling with her supple breasts. People get comfortable. Sometimes the thrill just isn’t there, but if this is the case in the first months of dating, the dude has a few Abercrombie clad skeletons in his closet. This is the period in the relationship when people carnally fuck each other’s brains out and call it true love. Coldplay should provide a solid soundtrack to a dull lifeless relationship where the two bond deeply over eating bon bons and catty gossip about the neighbors upstairs.
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