ii. Don't talk bad about a girl's friends. Ever.

It was possibly the most boring Sunday afternoon in the history of Sunday afternoons. I sat on the cream colored couch, watching children shows while she peacefully slept next to me. If it weren’t for the television, the house would be completely silent.

“I’m surprised they aren’t here today. Thank god,” I sighed happily at the fact that the noisy friends of hers had decided not to hang out today.

“Excuse you?” her eyes remained closed as she spoke.

Panicking, I covered my mouth quickly and cursed, “Never mind.”

“No, what were you saying,” she demanded, her eyes fully open now as she was glaring at me.

“I was just saying that your friends aren’t here, so it’s really quiet without them swearing every sentence and talking about hot guys, and…” I’m an idiot. I mentally finished the rest of sentence because her piercing glare sent a shiver through my spine.

“… and they aren’t telling you about the -ish things they’ve done this time…”

“Go kill yourself, Myungsoo. I take that as a personal insult, you damn idiot!” she threw a pillow at my face and stepped on my foot.

I was baffled. “You’re not like that, I swear! I was just saying that your friends were,” I stuttered, realizing I wasn’t going to get out of this easily.

“Shorts and a cute shirt are not ty, wearing makeup is not ty, and they don’t grind on guys like your friends grind on girls! Is it bad to talk about cute guys? I mean, you talk about other girl’s right in front of my face!” she continued to hit me with multiple pillows, not allowing me to speak or catch a breath.

“And when did you have the right to disrespect girls, huh?” she finally stopped hitting me and put her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

“But they are!” I replied, still referring to when I called them .

“Oh, so you think it’s okay that you can talk about hot girls in front of my face, but we can’t talk about guys without you calling us… that? How fair is that?”

“It’s not fair at all.” I replied, my eyes looking straight down at my feet.

“It was a rhetorical question!” she snapped, stepping on my foot yet again.

“And don’t you dare start talking about how guys are stronger and deserve to have more lenience blah blah blah. I couldn’t give a rat’s about what you have to say about yourself,” she continued lecturing me.

“But we are stronger,” she glared at me when I said those four words.

“Are you still alive after bleeding for seven days straight each month?”

“No.”

“Exactly, so shut up.”

Merry Christmas everyone!