Linger

I am guilty of always comparing. With the girls on Instagram, with the girls on Twitter, with the girls on Tumblrs. Mostly on Instagram. All these pictures are infiltrating my mind negatively. I want a loving partner and cute babies. I want a tastefully decorated house and a nice ride. I want fashionable and successful circle of friends. I want lavish trips and be photographed in my latest designer bikini with matching jewelry.

And H, I always want to position you as the loving partner. Don’t we have the same ideals in most things, as much as I am always opposing you but it really is that I have tons of feelings for ya.

I get sick and nauseous when I read someone I know is finally hitching it. Hate it. Hate the bling, the dress, the flowers and the adoring smiles they get from the photographed expression of their beau. Where’s mine already?

So what is wrong if there are some girls’ dream or destination is that dais by Pak Abu? She didn't pull a wedgie out of you, isn't it – not that it’d be any trouble with that granny panties of yours.

Man, I’m spiteful.

There, I am guilty of comparing.