
I understand that you were worried about your precious wood table being ruined when I spilled your cranberry Sierra Mist, but did you really have to yell at me and embarrass me?
I KNOW your cup was sitting there. Logic says a piece of flimsy cardboard should not be able to knock over a full glass if it just touches it. It’s not my fault.
Then you come into my room and get mad because I say I don’t want the last taco. I’m upset and irritated now because you hurt my feelings.
WORDS. FUCKING. HURT.