Dear awful bloke in Café,

Dear awful bloke in Café,

Don’t pull that smug sneering bullshit face when eavesdropping on my girlie conversation about shoes, fluffy kittens, hair products, the necessity of boys and a multitude of other topics which necessitate vast quantities of oestrogen to appreciate. Don’t titter and shake your head in dismay when I squeal about the latest copy of Vogue.

I saw you pick your nose and eat it. I may be a big girlie part of the time, but you are a big booger eater all of the time. And you possess some of the worst table manners I have ever encountered, you socially inept cretin.

Cunt.

So don’t lord it over me as some superior species of thinker merely because I bathe, wear lipstick and choose, at certain times in my life, to discuss such topics as “jeans which give great ass” and “buying new eyeliner.”

Kisses,
Munky

P.S. And you smell bad.