“Imagine answering the door to him when you’re at that creepy half-finished stage of your weekend makeup process…”

I Think He's Gone Weird

Fuckboys love to take their uncertainty out on us, like let me just act SO WEIRD for a few days now since we got very close there for a while. Errr, my memory isn’t that bad mate, I do remember the outpour of emotions and compliments I received from you… ON TUESDAY.

You may at times ask yourself: “Wait, what did I do?” and to be honest hun, ZILCH. He’s gone weird. He might be back tomorrow, might never text you again (he will though, they always do at some point, right?)

Sometimes the men I meet when I’m wearing my Valentino dupes are often quite different following this glam encounter. I think I’m being charmed by a Disney Prince under flashing lights and the next morning I realise I was effortlessly wooed by a gorgeous fuckboy frog who has now hopped back into the prick pond.

Modern Cinderella sitch going on here: “Who was the woman wearing the fab shoes last night? Jeez, can’t remember, better not contact her or show any interest after our dramatic night together even though we had months of build up to this moment…” Except these days, he doesn’t need to go house to house the following weekend when he’s ready to make his dramatic entrance again. Thank god, imagine answering the door to him when you’re at that creepy half-finished stage of your weekend makeup process…

Thanks to modern technology, he’ll usually be more eager to ruin your vibe than Team Snapchat, and in rolls that boring, general snap of his beer, set to take you into a familiar sea of regret and stupidity…

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