🐸 15 Petty Grievances I Refuse to Let Go Of
The person who "borrowed" my pen in 7th grade and never gave it back.
It had glitter ink, Brittany. You don't just take a glitter pen and vanish into the academic mist.People who reply “k” instead of “ok” or literally any other form of human communication.
Is that "k" short for knife through my heart?Group projects.
I did 97% of the work and Matt put his name on the slide like he cured gravity.When someone takes the middle seat in an empty row of theater seats.
What are you, chaos incarnate?? A seat anarchist??The cashier who gave me exactly one napkin with my extra-saucy burrito.
I looked like a Jackson Pollock painting by the end of that meal.The friend who said, “You wouldn’t like that band,” without even asking me.
I now listen to them out of spite. On loop. LOUDLY.The towel that never dries me properly.
It’s been washed a thousand times, but somehow still repels water like it’s emotionally unavailable.People who clap when the plane lands.
What do you think this is, the Olympics of Basic Transportation Functionality?When someone says “Let’s hang out!” but never actually plans anything.
I'm still sitting here. In jeans. From three summers ago.That one sock that always slips down inside my shoe.
You're a disgrace to your cotton ancestors. I hope you reincarnate as a dust rag.The person who double-tapped my deeply vulnerable post without leaving a comment.
Okay Karen, I just bared my soul and you gave it...a thumb tap?The coworker who reheated fish in the microwave.
You know what you did. The breakroom still smells like Poseidon's regrets.People who say "I'm just brutally honest" but are actually just...mean.
You're not a truth-teller. You're a poorly disguised raccoon with a Wi-Fi password.That one time someone interrupted my story to tell a worse, longer one.
AND I NEVER GOT TO FINISH MINE. So yeah. Still mad.The door that pretends it’s push but is actually pull.
I don’t care if it’s my fault. I’ve declared war on that door and its deceptive ways.
🔥 Bonus Grievance: The person who ate my clearly labeled leftovers.
You didn’t just eat food—you ate trust.
And that marinara sauce had memories.
