Charlotte Green

I don’t care if he’s bringing home the foreskin. I don’t care about any of this because we are not obsessed as a culture with making sure men’s bits look like something made for a Bratz doll.

You told me you were leaving, and at least had the decency not to pretend that it was just to be alone for a while.

Read the entire Wikipedia article on a really important event you know almost nothing about, and feel really informed for the next few days.

Overhearing incredibly thin girls talk about how fat they feel, even though you are clearly twice their size and within earshot.

Because I’m afraid you’ll ask me for the sweater back which I have strategically stolen. But you can’t be mad at me for this; it fits perfectly and keeps me extremely warm on the semi-frequent nights where my heater doesn’t work.

Do not force them to engage in constant activities which you believe will make them a more “well-rounded” person.

You constantly bum cigarettes off of people while out drinking yet claim that you “don’t smoke.”

You avoid romantic comedies like the plague because you don’t want to have to deal with the two main characters having a happy ending (and are prone to cursing at the screen).

A woman who masturbates — especially one who masturbates often — is defective in some way. She needs a man, or is driving all of the potential suitors away with her flagrant demonstrations of self-satisfaction.

Because maybe relationships don’t have to fulfill everything for everybody. Maybe you are right in wanting less, and I am being overly demanding in wanting something serious.

Feeling cheated out of what you had always imagined adulthood would look like, and resentful towards a generation of hardcore debters that left us a relatively bleak financial and professional landscape.

There are times at which all you want to do is get someone a dozen roses and whatever chocolate is a step up from a Whitman’s sampler, but now is not one of those times.