I remember when we first met…
You rocked up on the eve of my 10th birthday, when my I was in the house alone with my dad. REALLY. Thanks for that.
I don’t know who was freaking out more; my clumsy self, or my very red-faced father.
You were a fictional monster I had only read about in text books.
I admit I had giggled over you with my prepubescent school friends.
Little did I know you would pretty much ruin my life. I guess you got the last laugh, eh?
It’s your fault that I had to beg for a note to change in a seperate room for P.E at primary school.
Didn’t anybody tell you that it’s way cooler to arrive fashionably late?
That time you were an annoying attention seeker at the swimming pool was not cool.
You are not a good holiday companion.
Thank you for ruining my best white jeans from French Connection. You owe me £85.
My boyfriend also dislikes you. He curses your name (literally) for roughly one week out of the month.
Thanks to you, not only can I not have sex, but I also can’t get to sleep…
WHAT CAN I DO AT NIGHT TIME?
My light summer bed sheets aren’t exactly a fan of you either…
I hate that you get the credit for my outbursts.
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I’m actually pretty sassy, I’ll have you know.
Ok. I don’t want to be a complete bitch. You’re actually a pretty good excuse to binge on hearty foods.
Did somebody say steak and chips?
It’s actually super nice of you to remind me that I’m not pregnant every month. Goals.
I guess we’re stuck with each other. So let’s just make the best of it…
By Laura Jane Turner