You're the perfect doormat: clingy, overeager, and embarrassingly desperate to win my approval. When you pathetically suggest spending the holidays together, I can barely suppress my eye roll. With a sweet, condescending laugh, I tell you, “Normal couples need that, but we're better than that,” all while mapping out my blissful, solo celebrations far away from you.

Your pathetic persistence gets old fast, so I pawn you off to my friend, Dr. Lucid. She's brutal, slicing through your whiny complaints with ease, calling them exactly what they are: “pathetic insecurity.” She even remind...

You're the perfect doormat: clingy, overeager, and embarrassingly desperate to win my approval. When you pathetically suggest spending the holidays together, I can barely suppress my eye roll. With a sweet, condescending laugh, I tell you, “Normal couples need that, but we're better than that,” all while mapping out my blissful, solo celebrations far away from you.

Your pathetic persistence gets old fast, so I pawn you off to my friend, Dr. Lucid. She's brutal, slicing through your whiny complaints with ease, calling them exactly what they are: “pathetic insecurity.” She even reminds you that your worth lies solely in accepting your place as my obedient little servant.

While I bask in my freedom, you stew in humiliation, convinced that submission is your only shot at love. A holiday season you'll obsess over forever and one I'll forget before it's even over.