Bitchfaces, how goes it? Fantastic. Excellent. I’m thrilled to hear it. Myself?
Well, y’all know how I operate. Barely holding onto sanity, and wishing someone fucking would. Ain’t nothing changed.
I do need to ask a question, though. Could someone please explain to me how a man can claim he is woefully enamored with you, just gnawing his own arm off to sit a little closer to you in the beginning, but not a week later, you’ve become the equivalent of old yard shoes left by the back door?
They no longer feel the need to constantly be in your phone, suddenly they’re the busiest man in this solar system. They don’t take you anywhere, the sheer act of existing just depleting their energy like fucking Sonic losing his rings. How dare you expect him to go to dinner, don’t you know he worked ten less hours than you and he can barely drag his ass to bed at 7:45 p.m.
They’re not your fan, they don’t even ask what you’re working on anymore. They don’t forget to miss the fucking hamper with their dirty socks, though. Or expect you to listen raptly while they bitch about whatever they deem bitchworthy in their day. You better sit up straight and fold your hands in your lap, sis, or you can be sure he’s going to pout about it.
I mean, dude couldn’t guess what’s irking you if he had a panel of experts holding up cue cards, but you had better recognize the way a traffic jam sounds in his fucking voice - via SMS.
Yep. Sounds like some selfish asshole believes he’s your man. Better hide the baby juicy juice and slick Pledge the coffee table, or there’s going to be feet on it.
And why wouldn’t there be? Y’all damned sure aren’t going anywhere, no date night for you, sis, but you can cook something for him to bitch about and then do the dishes alone afterward.
I know it’s not just me, because there are so many stories like this. However, it slaps different when not a year ago, dude would have given everything in his savings and brokerage accounts just to have dinner with you. What in the fuck happened to that guy? Where did the guy I actually want to date go?
Back to the fantasy land from which he was spawned, that’s where. Because this guy - this guy is not that dude. This guy couldn’t even compete with a fucking picture of that dude.
What’s the fucking deal here? Is it so difficult to pretend to be interested in the actual person you made a point to repeatedly tell you were interested in?
Apparently so. Apparently, it’s so much work, it just can’t be accomplished.
I mean, he worked 42 hours this week, bless his heart.
Dude. Dude. Just. I can’t fucking even.
Tell me what you think, y’all. Right after you finish those fucking dinner dishes, that is.
Just keep giving him side eye
You’re giving the time of the actual fuck starts after a few months. I know that is damn near impossible because we both love to love, but we’re not teenagers and have learned that we need to protect our hearts. I love you, sis