Clearly, my friends hate me.

I hate stupid books. I really do. Anything with a stiletto or a little dog on the cover makes me want to barf. But my friends insisted I read "Something Borrowed," swearing that it was good and not as stupid as the cover screams that it is.

So, I'm reading it, and so irritated because the protagonist (who is sleeping with her best friend's fiance) is so wholesome and good (aside from the cheating factor) and her cuckolded best friend Darcy has no redeemable qualities whatsoever. Darcy is obnoxious, self-centered, selfish, a liar. If this was a book worth reading they would make Darcy a little more complex; as stupid/bitchy as they make her in the book leaves the reader with no concern that her best friend is shagging her soon-to-be hubby.

But I digress. The real point here is that as I am reading the book, hating the book and Darcy, I remember way back to when two of my best gals were talking about it. I knew nothing of the book at this point. But I do remember that they compared ME to Darcy. What the f? Now I am hurt that my best friends could think that I am shallow, selfish and obnoxious as her.

Jerky friends with quite low opinions of me are so unpretty. Or, maybe I am so unpretty, just like Darcy.