Instead of Doing Something Juvenile, Like Slashing Your Tires, After You Dumped Me for DeAnna Vacario

My first plan was to work out enough to rock a revenge dress. But it was like one of those diets you start and can’t stop; the project took on a momentum of its own. The dress wasn’t enough, is what I’m saying. So I got a revenge face, slightly resembling DeAnna Vacario’s but much prettier, with teeth pearly-white as piano keys. My dazzling hazel eyes have real eyelashes, twice as long as her falsies. I got revenge hair, so lush and raven-black that I can’t stop throwing it over my shoulder. But I still had my same ridiculous obsessed-with-you brain. So, I got a revenge brain, and now I’m a super genius. Rocket science is like first-grade addition to me, the philosophical conundrums of the world are just ho-hum basic, and my brilliant brain behind my exquisite face is stupefied that you ever mattered to me a single iota. I put all the shit you left behind in a cardboard box and gave it to my neighbor’s teenage son, so if you want your ugly leather jacket or your Fight Club DVD or your fancy drumsticks or your neon condoms, go bug Myles next door. Fingers crossed DeAnna gives you herpes.

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