WARNING: The following essay is a weird cocktail of introspection, ranting, and expressions of repressed frustration. Proceed at your own risk. Or not, it is your call.
You’re a beautiful person, all the guys come up to you at a bar and try to make conversation because they’re naturally attracted to you. You’re the center of attention, you’re the heart of the party. All the hot and the cool guys are figuring out how to talk to you, how to impress you, and how to get your digits. You’re enjoying every bit of the attention because you know you deserve it.
Or How I Realized Two Weeks Ago That People Are Not Nice And Are Essentially Dementors With Human Faces