Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Cry Me a River, Yeah, Yeah...

"For God's sake, quit calling me Mrs. Das. I'm twenty-eight. You probably have children my age."
(I.O.M., page 163)


What a pathetic excuse of a parent. Mrs. Das is someone that I know the moment I met, I would definitely hate. How do I know such things? The diction she uses, her victim-esk self-pity, and her disinterest in her own CHILDREN! I kind of like her husband; at least he seems to take interest in his family. I picture him as a bit of a nerd, high-tech camera with a guide book, jean shorts and DEFINITELY a visor. He doesn't seem to bad. So what in the heck this brat is complaining about, I'll never know! She says her husband always "insists on... meaningful expressions and smiles" after they've had sex. Maybe he's just a happy guy! The word "insists" is what particularly stuck out to me. She distorts the truth to put herself in the best, most vulnerable light possible. Rub some dirt on it. Also, quit eating mustard oil. You wonder why you're fat...

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