If you want this to work, if you want to stand a chance in being in a cohabited unorthodox relationship with me, you’re going to have to call me on my shit. You can’t be intimidated to call me for what I am, and if I’m being Ms. Douchey McDouche Bag then you’re going to have to say that. 

Don’t make up excuses for me, “Oh you’re just a little grumpy right now, maybe even hungry.” No motherfucker, I’m being the biggest prick and you’re going to have to tell me to stop being the biggest prick. Let us not smolder over it, have angry sex with me and tell me to stop being a flaming dick. 

I love a nice guy, I really do. I love how you coddle my weirdness and embrace it as a good thing. I love that when I burp over the phone you find me endearing and when I cuss at the old lady who clearly shouldn’t have a drivers licenses, you pat my head and think it’s sweet. BUT WHEN I AM CLEARLY ON MY KANYE WEST I HATE YOU TAYLOR SWIFT MODE AND IT’S DIRECTED TO YOU, please - do not “Oh she’s just being Miley” me. Don’t accept that behavior from me. 

I shouldn’t for one second feel the need to annoy or push your buttons just to see how far it will take you until you snap on me. You let me get away with certain behavior, and truly I appreciate that. There are some things that I do, that you just won’t accept, and I can deal with that. I’m okay with boundaries, stop giving me the keys to the kingdom. I would like to believe that when I’m given all the power I’ll use it for good like a Jedi, but my dear, I was always more a Darth Vader fan and I just can’t handle it.

Tell me no, tell me to stop and lets have make up sex already.