says my right-hand bitch.
We’ve all been there, right?
There= that person who manages to get under your hitherto impenetrable skin. The one who magically stretches your tolerance and forgiveness meter 200%. (S)he who makes you think a future could happen. Basically, the douchebag who plays you so expertly that when your heart stops revolving around them you realize what a ridiculous amount of credit you’ve given them. You believed in them, their potential, and yet, they turned out so…ordinary. Shame and disappointment.
My other right-hand bitch says dating the douchebag is a rite of passage. And for the douche experience to count, it has to be after you’re 25. And alcoholics don’t count; they’re in a separate category.
Also, it’s difficult to cut out the douchebag. Even the most resilient among us weaken and are inexplicably charmed when we otherwise wouldn’t be. So listen to your bitches. They know. They’re immune to the noxious spell the douche casts, unlike you.
It might take a few tries but just keep cutting out the cancer.
It’s like quitting smoking: the more you try to quit, the higher your chances of success.
‘Cause no one wants you to have cancer.
Except fucking douchebags.