"The plot of this tragic story is that a young man wishes to dance with the love of his life...but she will only dance with him if he gives her a red rose. But it's the dead of winter, so it's impossible. The nightingale, who wants him to be happy and in love, decides to help him find a rose. However, she learns that the only way to make one grow is to pierce her heart on the rose bush's thorn, to make a red rose bloom out of love and blood. She dies, and the young man plucks the rose to give to his lady love. She spurns the gift, which took such a tremendous sacrifice, because it doesn't match her dress." ~thenumber42, Deviantart.

Yes, that shows how insensitive, stupid, retarded, assholic we girls can be. Now back to the point of what will turn out to be a highly emotional post and which will undoubtedly contradict my first sentence.

I was reading a copy of Cleo (y'know, that magazine that once sported "50 ways to have sex" or some random title like that) which was given to us by a proud mother whose daughter wrote an article in it when I flipped back to look at the Editor's note. She said - No man has the right to say these words to me: "I don't allow you to..."

DAMN RIGHT. Words cannot express how much I agree with that statement. What are we women? Dogs? "No, Pumpkin, I will not allow you to sleep in my bed tonight 'cos your fur would get stuck in my new pyjamas." "No, dear, I will not allow you to wear that dress simply because I don't like people looking at you." As bitchy as we can get sometimes, that is still no reason for guys to take control over our lives.

To the girls who have been listening to their boyfriends say: "I don't allow you to..." for the past unidentified amount of time, WAKE UP! He is, afterall, just a boyfriend whom you'll ultimately dump, or who'll dump you. Why listen? That's just my twenty-dollars worth though, I really can't do anything if you insist on being some gullible doormat that doesn't mind being stepped on. Like, can I say, ouch?

Infantile bastard! Why whine over something which is not in your field of expertise? You mean to tell me you know how a woman feels when she wears something sexy? Nooooooo. You probably (I say probably because I honestly frankly truthfully really don't know what guys think.) think that she's your woman and she shouldn't be showing her body off to the world. But don't you see? *ghostly voice* It's her choice.

ZZZ. Alright, I don't know why I'm so worked up over this. *looks at the taunting pile of assignments next to my laptop* Ah, now I know why. Let's go on to another topic.

Which is...

Which will be...

I've run out of topics.

Okay, so my aunt once told me that there lived a cute little puppy... No, she didn't. She never mentions anything about dogs. Especially not when she jumped on a chair when I let my dog loose. What she said was more of: "I pity your future boyfriend." But aunty dear, who said I'm going to get a boyfriend in the first place? Why would I need a boyfriend to stay happy? Because it's the latest fashion accessory? Because it's an absolute necessity to have someone carry my bags when I go shopping?

OH! There's another point! Why do guys like to carry their girlfriends' bags for them? Yes, it's so sweet and all but:

#1. It makes the boyfriend look gay. I mean it! I've seen so many bulky, strong guys carrying some pretty shoulder bag which looks absolutely r.i.d.i.c.u.l.o.u.s on them. And more importantly, I thought they were gay.

#2. It makes the girlfriend look weak. C'mon! What's so difficult about carrying your own bag? Train your muscles, strengthen your arms, strengthen your legs! Er, but you don't use your legs to carry your bag right? It's just a bag.

#3. I can't think of any more reasons so let's just leave it at that.

End of topic.

Gah! I love this pic! What a pity the blood looks like jam. :/

I shall digress again.

I'm a sucker at cutting fruits. I cut off more flesh from the fruit than skin from the fruit. I lose more blood than the fruit loses its juice. In future, I'll get those kinda cool looking invention of mankind that slices the fruit easily when you stab it into the fruit. :D At least I won't end up like my daddy. He cut off the tip of his middle finger when he was a kid. And he didn't cry. I think I'd be crying at the top of my lungs. And his happy aunt dumped the slice of flesh back on, wound a bandage around it, and proclaimed him perfectly fine. Thank hell she's no longer around. I don't think I'd like having my finger put back on in a twisted way. Maybe one day I'll take a picture of my daddy's finger and post it up.

I'm beginning to babble.

Really?

Uh huh.

Does this mean you're going mad?

Nope, not at all!

So you're sane?

Duh!

Very very sane?

I can sing my ABCs!

I'm sure you're sane!

Of course I'm sane!

That's great. I feel happy for you.

Alright. I admit. I'm not sane.