Your sister forgets to invite you to her daughter, your niece’s christening. You understand that it’s implied by your proximity to the girl, but it would have been nice to get an invitation like everyone else – you show up anyway, bitter and without a gift.
Your flatmates ask you to remove the black mould on your bathroom ceiling. You indulge them, but only because you’re jealous of its capacity for persistence.
You accidentally touch your flatmate’s bottom on the way home from a night out. You go to make an awkward joke about it, but it dies in your throat. Maybe he didn’t notice.
You frown with despair. Repeatedly. At everything.
You refer to your boyfriend as your “significant other”, it makes everyone feel uncomfortable and prompts them to ask you if everything is ok. It turns out everything isn’t ok.
Someone sits too close to you on the bus, you stare at them with a furrowed brow and genuine hostility until they get off. You haven’t felt more alive for weeks
You notice that the Mormons have been getting more and more attractive. The next time they stop you in The Meadows, you really listen to what they’re saying. He’s coming back to Missouri. It all makes sense. You throw yourself to the ground in the sacred light of the Holy Spirit and give yourself to Jesus. Spotting a twinkle of lust in your eye, they decline your sudden interest and make haste towards salvation in their trusty Mormon-obile, leaving you aghast that he’s not even interested in a quarter marriage to you.
Love is in the air, but there’s an awful lot of air and the resulting concentration of love is actually not anything to write home about.
You spit in the street this week and it makes someone who could have been a great friend dislike you tremendously.
You are certain that a cherished flatmate touched your bottom on the way home from a night out. Outraged that she’d take advantage of your friendship like that, you refuse to look her in the eye and throw away one sock from every one of her washes for the next six weeks
You think you see a mouse scurrying across the library floor. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. You decide to play a trick on your mind by getting a lobotomy. Who’s laughing now?
Your new email-pal asks you to make a substantial deposit to a Nigerian bank account to liberate the funds from his new gold-trading enterprise. He offers you a 20 per cent stake in the company for your time: it’s your lucky day.
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