Oh Honey, you know, I try to keep up with technology and other new kinds of passive aggressive communication, but really, let's get real. Email hurts. You've gotten them when someone should have called you, and you're so panicked when an ex-husband approaches you in public
|but your face will never show it. good girl.|
while you're trying to stuff a burrito in your face under a sun hat BECAUSE YOU HAVE SHAME that instead of telling him the alimony doesn't take back all those things he did, you throw the burrito and run out of the restaurant. Click click go your perfect heals in your mutilated feet. This is what your Dag did today when an ex flippantly approached her to speak about the ways that everything never happened. Oh, Honey. I threw my food, ran out the back door and walked around the long way of the restaurant so he wouldn't see my kempt rear end high-tailing it to snort calming air off my steering wheel. Had I not just come from my analyst, been sick, been recently robbed RODRIGO!, and completely life exhausted, I could have told him the words every elegant woman of class learns along with her first shoulder pads:
Champers on me if you fly your jet down to the islands, Honey!