Okay, this has been bothering me for HOURS now, and I know I won't be able to sleep until I vent about it. I don't wanna do it over text, either, 'cause that'll take too effing long.
I'm going to touch on a couple different things here. I may have already ranted about the first one, but I don't care at the moment. I'm gonna do it again.
Listen up, boys. When I tell you I think your eyes are pretty, you don't fucking tell me my rack is pretty. You're talking about the bags of fat and glands I've had to carry around for eight years. I had to start wearing bras every day - uncomfortable bras. I had to wear sports bras whenever I was playing sports (which, for the record, I played year round starting in 8th grade, and from 3rd-7th grade I played during the school year). When I got into high school, I had to wear TWO sports bras when I played volleyball 'cause otherwise they'd get caught in the net if I got too close. These are the things that ache like migraines once a month. These are the things I've spent most of my life covering up because I don't like to look like a hooker. So don't fucking compliment my boobs.
And the last thing: If you're bitter about me moving on, you don't tell my BOSS you think I'm a slut who shows off her boobs too much. Um, excuse me? What the hell even prompted this? Especially since we happened to be in the same room as an exotic dancer with a boob job and low-cut shirt? For your information, I was wearing two shirts, one tank top and one v-neck shirt over it...TO AVOID SHOWING TOO MUCH CLEAVAGE. And the last time you saw me? Um, yeah, a spaghetti strap shirt underneath a purple boat neck top with minimal cleavage showing. The time before that? A long-sleeve shirt. Tonight? I Threadless shirt that went all the way up to my neck.
Don't go talking shit to my boss because you're sad the college girl you made out with once is no longer looking for a rebound and thinks you're creepy as hell. Go get a nose reduction, cretin.
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