Stevie Nicks is my celebrity spirit animal.

She’s just as beautiful now as she was in her Fleetwood Mac prime. I want to have long hair with feathers in it — just like her — when my hair turns gray.

Everything she does looks so effortless, you know?

Fleetwood Mac speaks to me. They’re one of those bands that I automatically associate with so many great memories:

Swirling around to Gypsy with girlfriends in college, glasses of wine in hand. Blasting Go Your Own Way with all the windows down on the drive up to the Gorge. Drunkenly playing The Chain on repeat in bed with Kelly at the end of a particularly silly Friday night.

I think I need a tambourine now. And a top hat.

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