My stomach flipped. I stopped. This guy was trending in my mind big time.

Leonora is the grownups’ version of Cinderella. She doesn’t take crap from any ugly stepsisters. She doesn’t sit indoors waiting to be rescued by prince charming. Oh, no, she rescues prince charming, Florestan, who’s locked up in a dungeon by his archenemy, Pizarro. Cinderella was fun when we were little girls, played with dolls and believed in passive fairytales. Now that we’re grown women who play with toys, it’s only fit to believe in active fairytales.

I didn’t like his tone. In fact I didn’t like boys’ tone when they knew they were hot and tried to be rude to girls because they knew they were hot.

A year ago I would’ve been taken in by his chivalry, but now I knew what laid behind the façade: a frog waiting to bite me where it hurt the most given half the chance.

He wanted to start from the top while he knew nothing of the beginning and that was why he was always swimming at the bottom. He liked to think he was an entrepreneur and was even on Dragon’s Den with the silliest invention ever: a machine to scratch his back. Why don’t you just reach out, you lazy twit?

Using the word chic while insulting someone doesn’t make it okay.

Correct the blunders on your face made through self-delusion – this would be far more fitting than to want to teach me, which is just as if a sow trying to teach Minerva.

I found myself stuck into a Gertrude’s Dream Waltz universe. Like Gertrude, I was trapped inside a body that bellied little of the person inside, while simultaneously ensnared in a home filled with people that looked like the person inside the unsightly body.