As in, things can be whirring along smoothly, and then there's a quick snap of the fingers and BOOM. DIE (get the pun?)- NA- MITE. He (whomever he may be, because it happens every time) changes his mind. The girl that was once the perfect fit- not too much and not too little- suddenly becomes both.
My behavior didn't change. I didn't change. But he changed his mind. And to that I give a royal "what the fuck," accompanied by a bunch of tears and my best efforts at self-consoling, which, if you could see my lovely mascara burned face, would prove poor.
I've reapplied my makeup three times today. My eyes have been bloodshot for the last 8 hours. They hurt. I hurt.
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