Nothing says pretentious
like bringing a brick of a novel to a crowded area. Especially if you are a waitress on a busy night and you leave Jude the Obscure on one of the outside tables where there's only enough light to see the huge title.
And guess what. Even if you can read Thomas Hardy in 2-second snippets and not cease to give a fuck (more power to you; I hate the guy), it will never balance out the fact that YOU'RE A MORON. Why are you a moron? Because you can see your boy lash out against his ex-girlfriend (with whom he's been cheating on you, by the way) quite violently, so that 20 witnesses agree he's absolutely nuts and is never allowed back, not even on this portion of the sidewalk, and you fail to make the connection that IF HE CAN DO IT TO HER, HE CAN DO IT TO YOU.
I hate this in women, this "I'm different from all the rest! I can fix all his problems! He's not a violent alcoholic, no, it's somehow her fault; let me take you home and comfort you, honey!"
News: he and I have been through the fires of hell together. He stopped drinking, of his own accord, for a year and a half when we lived together. No one loved and believed in him more, no one supported him more, no one was more patient and forgiving. Maybe he could cite his sister and mother, but they were supportive over the phone. Not with picking up his half of the rent, living with him day to day, sharing absolutely everything with him. Maybe, despite your dull cow stare, you are truly something so, so, so incredibly special. Maybe you are so superior to me in every area (except, and sorry, I'm really not arrogant, but when it comes to just plain looks, I have you there-- and when I say that about myself, that means it's REALLY bad for you) that you can turn him around, you can succeed where every single woman in his life has failed. But at the moment, he looks like shit, needs a haircut, carries a bottle of vodka with him in his satchel, from which he drinks immediately when he wakes up (sometimes I still let him sleep in my bed and hold me-- but I'm sure you knew that), has no job, and fills his time by making drunken scenes on the sidewalk.
You can have him. Take him. Best of luck. I'm sure you guys have made a demon out of me. I'm the grand bitch of the universe. It's true, I'm capable of being quite the bitch, and you look like a nice girl; in fact, I'm sure you have a better heart than me. And it's just the sheer goodness of your hearts that will keep you guys together through thick and thin, right? I'm sure of it, just like I'm sure he meant it in a platonic way when he told me "I'm hungry for you" in bed the other night.
No. I'm frivolous, I'm a bitch, but I'm not dumb enough to get tied up with you guys more than I already am. So he stayed hungry and I got a full night's rest.
And guess what. Even if you can read Thomas Hardy in 2-second snippets and not cease to give a fuck (more power to you; I hate the guy), it will never balance out the fact that YOU'RE A MORON. Why are you a moron? Because you can see your boy lash out against his ex-girlfriend (with whom he's been cheating on you, by the way) quite violently, so that 20 witnesses agree he's absolutely nuts and is never allowed back, not even on this portion of the sidewalk, and you fail to make the connection that IF HE CAN DO IT TO HER, HE CAN DO IT TO YOU.
I hate this in women, this "I'm different from all the rest! I can fix all his problems! He's not a violent alcoholic, no, it's somehow her fault; let me take you home and comfort you, honey!"
News: he and I have been through the fires of hell together. He stopped drinking, of his own accord, for a year and a half when we lived together. No one loved and believed in him more, no one supported him more, no one was more patient and forgiving. Maybe he could cite his sister and mother, but they were supportive over the phone. Not with picking up his half of the rent, living with him day to day, sharing absolutely everything with him. Maybe, despite your dull cow stare, you are truly something so, so, so incredibly special. Maybe you are so superior to me in every area (except, and sorry, I'm really not arrogant, but when it comes to just plain looks, I have you there-- and when I say that about myself, that means it's REALLY bad for you) that you can turn him around, you can succeed where every single woman in his life has failed. But at the moment, he looks like shit, needs a haircut, carries a bottle of vodka with him in his satchel, from which he drinks immediately when he wakes up (sometimes I still let him sleep in my bed and hold me-- but I'm sure you knew that), has no job, and fills his time by making drunken scenes on the sidewalk.
You can have him. Take him. Best of luck. I'm sure you guys have made a demon out of me. I'm the grand bitch of the universe. It's true, I'm capable of being quite the bitch, and you look like a nice girl; in fact, I'm sure you have a better heart than me. And it's just the sheer goodness of your hearts that will keep you guys together through thick and thin, right? I'm sure of it, just like I'm sure he meant it in a platonic way when he told me "I'm hungry for you" in bed the other night.
No. I'm frivolous, I'm a bitch, but I'm not dumb enough to get tied up with you guys more than I already am. So he stayed hungry and I got a full night's rest.