I was ready to be his Queen and bear his larvae but he stood me up twice, tossing me aside like passion's plaything. Did he ever apologize? No friggin' way. Instead he got up on his hind legs because I said I didn't think he was all that good looking. He sent me this totally defensive email:
"The devious little hymenoptera might be better looking if he tried wearing something other than a t-shirt reading "Give 'Em Hill" and perhaps had his antennae cleaned and gelled. "
Yeah, right. That was just his way of twisting the knife. He knows I love that punkish t-shirt and the way his limp antennae fall across his compound eyes à la young Johnny Depp.
Oh what the hell, Avery, I'll give you another chance - but this is the last one, I swear. From now on I'll be as unforgiving as a change room mirror.
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