a curious day today after an awkward encounter left us reeling. though we won’t get into the nitty gritty for fear of conspicuous transparency, what we will say is this: our mum was right. men don’t ever grow up.
call it peter pan, oedipus or just plain self-absorbed, there is no denying that there is a distinct facet of the male character that never matures past the age of eleven. though we’d venture to guess this issue is present during most-to-all emotional encounters, we will (for risk of so-offending) propose the idea on a more general term: men can be big fat fucking babies.
this particular specimen’s peter pan complex came about in his reluctance to see us making life happen without him. this megalomaniac can’t dare to share, we suppose. pooh pooh we say!
(image stolen from weheartit)