If you’re interested in me, you need to basically beat me over the head with it. I might pick up on it but I will always convince myself it isn’t true unless you tell me explicitly.
A simple “hey I like ya and I wanna spoon ya” would be fine
Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.
Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them.
Sou uma série de sentimentos misturados, entranhados dentro do meu peito. Coitado do sujeito que por essa bagunça se apaixonar, hora feliz, hora triste, hora doce, hora amarga. Sou uma pequena coitada tentando entender essa bagunça que é amar.