The whole Hufflepuff perspective on life, forgive and forget and that sort of thing, has never really come close to fitting me as well as the nicely-tailored gloves of bitterness that constantly cover my tiny hands. They're also good for slapping people.
The source of the newest seams in my tart-tempered gloves is a boy who, no matter what I do, utterly refuses to notice me.
Exhibit A of how much he refuses to notice me: the two of us were at a dance. I dare say I looked adorable, in a polkadot dress and bright red lipstick. As we were leaving, he leaned down to me and said:
"Wow, so many hot chicks."
If that isn't the cruddiest friendzone of all time, I don't know what is.
It was like being thrown into the friendzone pit, and then having the entrance boarded up.
After vying for his affections, or at least the most meager amount of his attention, my infatuation with him was poisoned with a lethal dose of bitter, bitter cyanide.
And now his really nice hair and ridiculously good eyebrow game is like a free, daily, mandatory refill of my bitterness mug.
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