I’m not fucking Rapunzel. Stop trying to rescue me.
Want to get told to fuck off by me? Here are somethings to say:
“It’s kind of my job now to rescue you from this.”
I’m sorry, what? Do you not realise how controlling that sounds? Yes, you and your penis are the answer to all my problems. Your golden cock shall change my life. Go away.
“This is how a relationship is supposed to be, I am going to teach you”
What, sitting in your Mum’s living room? Please. I do not need ‘teaching’ about relationships you tosser, especially from someone who’s longest relationship has been with PornHub.
“Let me take control of everything for you.”
What? Oh you mean every part of my life. Including what I do and where I go. You can’t even get your own life together. Piss off.
Oh don’t worry. I dumped him. There was so much more, and yes, that was one man, although I seem to attract the rescuers.
My life isn’t that bad for God’s sake, although I think I do appeal to a certain kind of controlling shit bag. Luckily, I have the the good sense to keep away from them because rescuers are normally abusive bastards with huge control issues.
The funny thing is, these men who want to rescue you (from dragons? I don’t know) are usually the ones who will walk through a door first and then let it swing back in your face, or the ones who never put their hands in their pockets when it’s their round.
If you have a Prince Charming complex, realise that to the rest of the world you act like the lovechild of Scrooge and The Wicked Witch of The West.