Fabulous Boyfriend

I always knew my death would be caused by being buried under glitter in a pillow fort while my metrosexual lover looked on and laughed.

Well not really, but I did figure out at the very start having a boyfriend more fabulous than me would cause problems.

Our relationship started off simple enough. I found a man with class but able to have fun when not viewed by the public, and he found a high-powered worker who appreciated the actual finer things in life, like coloring books and burping contests. We moved in together after six months.

Everything was fine… until the Pottery Barn catalog.

It was the little things at first, barely noticeable, but then they got harder to ignore. My whimsically mismatched dishware (meaning I broke everything in the set except one of each set) was replaced by modern stainless steel everything. My dark purple curtains were replaced by bright, airy, cheerful yellow ones, which went much better with everything in the living room and brightened up the room. But the last straw was the bedding. My soft blankets and squishy comforters were replaced by sleek black silk sheets, with a matching black comforter. EVERYTHING WAS SUDDENLY WRONG WITH THE WORLD.

Being classy people, we had a shit-load of pillows. He got his own surprise coming home that day; a glitter cannon staring him down from the inside of a classy pillow fort made of his stupid black silk pillowcases. It was very luxurious though.

He cast off his tie and quickly assembled his own fort and pointed his own glitter cannon at me.

GLITTER CANNONS OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION TIME.

One extreme glitter battle later, I was under a huge pile of glitter in the classiest pillow fort ever while he looked on, laughing his head off.

Don't have a boyfriend more fabulous than you, young ladies, listen to my cautionary tale.
But at least when I went out, I went out in style.