I’m so annoyed that I let that ukulele-loving prick talk his way into making me like him. I’m not in so deep that it actually hurts that it’s over. I mean, I bet he’s dated at least one white person with dreads. Probably has a sticker over his webcam camera. Probably would try to convince me to wear less make-up if we went out. He looks like he’ll get old and start fangirling Julian Assange. I didn’t want him anyway, I tell myself. I’m just annoyed that his mismanagement of his schedule meant I spent a number of nights staring at my phone waiting for him to reply when I could have been out
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