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And you know, I'm under my bed sobbing
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and I'm eating double-stuffed cookies.
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I'm scribbling in my diary with my sparkly pen
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"I love Oliver" over and over again.
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What do you do?
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Okay, that seems like a lot of unnecessary detail.
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He was gorgeous and I loved him.
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And, if I recall, I beat the crap out of him.
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Bam, I rest my case.
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Hello, Bonnie, are you alone?
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Oh, Steve. Finally I turned one back.
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I'll assume there's a less-gay man standing behind me.