can’t wait to commission an oil portrait of myself but make it really fucked up and scary and then i’ll store it in some dusty back room of my manor house and deliberately set up dinner party guests to stumble across it and then when they’re gazing upon its wretched face i can dramatically step out of the shadows and chuckle villainously as i give some half-baked excuse as to why it’s like that and then i’ll usher them back to dinner and spend the rest of the evening dropping hints that add up to me being born sometime in the 1770s despite my obvious youth