Does Your Cooch Smell Like Rose Petals Too?
We all know one of those people. Someone perfect. She is smart, gorgeous, sexy (yet modest), funny, and sweet. Most people can’t hate someone like this because she’s so nice. But I can. That’s the great thing about not being perfect–no one is surprised when you say things that prove yet again what a far cry you are from “decent human being,” let alone “respectable” or “perfect.”
That person swimming in fabulousness is so fucking perfect it makes me shit. She got married at twenty two (and will probably live happily ever after, damn her), got the perfect job right out of graduation, by age twenty six has saved up enough money for a down payment on a beautiful house in an area with an excellent school system for the wonderful 2.3 children they will have (also perfect, right down to a short labor and getting potty trained as soon as they can stand), and by twenty-eight has an amazingly $ucce$$ful career without having sacrificed her family or her sense of self. And to top it off, when she’s fifty years old I’m sure she will look fantastic (no botox or control-top underwear necessary) and still have orgasmic sex three times a week.
The bitch.
