Dear “friend“,
You hurt me.  You’ve openly belittled my choice of life partner, but just because your man has a tongue ring doesn’t mean mine needs one, nor does it mean that he’s lacking!  I can’t count how many times you and I have gone to a movie and you’ve just sat there texting, or talking the whole time.  And I care about the movie watching experience, okay?  This is a big deal.  What about that time in high school when we went to Portland City Grill, and you walked out and left me with your tab?  No one should be able to drink six vodka martinis and still walk, but you managed it.  AND THEN I get out to the car and see you passed out in the back seat.  It’s like you knew I’d just drive you home or something.  And I cannot overlook what you did at my wedding.  You flipped off the minister, stood up and objected on the grounds that “the bride is a bitch and the groom just doesn’t know yet,” you drank wine from the bottle, and decided it was a Greek-style wedding so you broke the bottle when you’d finished and shouted, “Opa!”   A shard of that hit me in the face. THE FACE.  AT MY WEDDING.  And seriously, attempting to ride the limo as we drove off was in very poor taste.  As was vomiting off the top of the limo, before falling off. 

You suck,

Jenna.

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