I fucking hate her.
I am so fucking tempted to stab her in her ugly, fat face with a butter knife.
She's embarrassed.
By me.
She's embarrassed that I am outspoken, unladylike, rude, disrespectful, and bitchy.
She thinks that it'll ruin her precious image, that her mother will hate her for it.
She is so. Fucking. Convinced that my behavior will make a difference, but really it's she who needs to change.
I knew this would happen.
Everything was going fine.
Well, even.
But then I put my elbows on the table.
And I kept them there.
She was beyond annoyed.
She was pissed.
And you know what she did?
Yeah, she got mad at me.
What a surprise.
Not.
Even seeing Rogue One again didn't fix it.
If anything, it made it worse.
She is a horrible, nasty, rude, arrogant, self-centered, narcissistic (excuse my French) asshole who should rot in hell with the rest of us.
I hate her.
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
Hate is a strong word, you say?
Well, fuck you bitch.
She expects me to be perfect.
Bet she didn't see that hate coming, huh?
Fuck. Her.
She only cares about herself, God forbid I offend her, or do something she doesn't like.
Well, bitch, if you don't like me, you shouldn't have gotten fifty/fifty custody, dumbass.
If she weren't such a fucking asshole I would be okay, life would be okay.
Maybe if she kept in mind that when you are an asshole, and you raise someone, that someone will most likely be an asshole as well.
Get the fuck over it.