I am so fucking bad at this being a grown-up thing and it is all your fault.
You blame me for everything.
Because you are the only one to blame. And because it is totally true.
Why are we always fighting about shit like this?
Well, you’re imaginary. Which means I will always win. Winning is kind of the point of being in a fight.
That’s pathetic. And crazy.
I know. But at least I exist.
Now, that’s below the belt.
Darling, you don’t have a belt. Or anything below it.