Last night’s mascara jails my eyes from opening – Thank you MAC.
I felt this heavy pressure on my bladder. Too many vodka waters and I have to fucking pee…
I didn’t want to get up and out of his “floor bed”. My ass looks awful in my “Tuesday” printed panties. It is in reality, Saturday morning. It’s too bright in here. Buy some fucking curtains. I can’t seem to roll over into the shadows of my own fetal position- my favorite position on these type of mornings. I close my eyes and try to wake up in my own room, in my own bed and sheets that do not happen to have a magnified view of the carpet.
This bedroom smells like shitty calogne. I force myself to look around. Flat screen, mirror closets, stacked video games, Pichachu figurines, condom wrapper, condom wrappers…used condoms. Holy Fuck.
I finally look down to face my nightmare. He has his head on my crying bladder.
“I AM YOUR VAGINA!!! RAAAAA!!!!”
No you are not. My little girl has never had a beard like that.
You chased me out of your house with a fake riffle.
P.S I’m sort of sorry for telling EVERYONE how fucked you are. And for making ms paint pictures of your face as hairy cock pockets.