"Oh, puh-lease, honey, sit your sweet ass down and let me school you on this forgiveness bullshit like the queen bee I am, because I'm about to drop a truth bomb so scorching it'll make your ex's lies look like amateur hour. Stop being so fucking forgiving—yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, the eternal do-gooder who's out here handing out pardons like they're candy on Halloween, as if everyone's just a misunderstood puppy with a wagging tail and zero clue about the chaos they're causing.

Newsflash, darling: people know exactly what the fuck they're doing, and they're doing it with a smirk and a plan, so wake up and smell the bullshit before you turn into everyone's favorite punching bag. I'm cocky as hell about this because I've got the scars to prove it, and let me tell you, they make one hell of a crown on a badass like me.

I mean, come on, do you really think Karen from accounting "accidentally" spilled your secrets over martinis again? As if! She's got the precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel, slicing through your trust while batting her fake lashes and pretending she's all innocence and oopsies. And you, my forgiving little flower, keep lapping it up like it's fine wine, when it's really just cheap vinegar that's eroding your soul. Oh, how cute, you're over there nodding like, "But maybe they didn't mean it!"

Spare me the sob story—people aren't bumbling idiots; they're strategic little vipers, coiling up and striking when you least expect it, all while you're busy forgiving them for the last bite they took out of your heart. It's pathetic, really, watching you play the saint while they cash in on your kindness like it's a free pass to the VIP section of your life. Not me, though—I'm too damn badass to fall for that crap. I've got my middle finger ready and my standards higher than a supermodel's cheekbones, because life's too short to waste on fools who think they can play me for a fool.

Let's get sarcastic for a second: Oh, sure, go ahead and forgive that backstabbing "bestie" who ghosted you for the guy she swore she hated—I'm sure she'll learn her lesson this time, right? As if lightning's gonna strike twice and turn her into a reformed angel. Please, that's about as likely as me apologizing for being this fierce—never gonna happen, sweetheart. People know exactly what they're doing; they've got the manual memorized, chapter and verse, on how to twist your words, flip your emotions, and leave you questioning your own sanity.

It's called gaslighting, not "oops, my bad," and if you're still forgiving them, you're just volunteering to be the punchline in their private joke. Me? I'd laugh in their face and say, "Try that shit again and see how fast I turn your world upside down." That's the kind of bitchy energy you need, the kind that says, "I'm not your emotional dumpster, so take your half-baked apologies and shove them where the sun don't shine." I'm cocky enough to admit I've mastered this game—I've dodged more daggers than a ninja in a knife factory, and I've come out sharper, sassier, and ready to own the damn room.

And don't even get me started on that whole "be the bigger person" nonsense—oh, gag me with a spoon, that's just code for letting them walk all over you while you pat yourself on the back for being "mature." As if maturity means bending over backward until you're a human pretzel. No, being the bigger person means strutting away with your head held high, flipping them off with a wink, and whispering, "Watch me thrive without your toxic ass." I'm a fiery force of nature, a walking wildfire that doesn't ask for permission to burn, and I've got zero time for forgiving the unforgivable.

People aren't clueless; they're calculated, crafting their excuses like a bad rom-com script, all tears and promises they'll break faster than a cheap diet resolution. So, why the hell are you still playing along? Because you're scared of being called a bitch? Ha! Own that label, babe—being bitchy means you're smart enough not to let fools feast on your feast. I'm sarcastic about it because it's hilarious how they think they can fool you twice; it's like watching a clown trip over the same banana peel and expecting applause. Not on my watch—I've got my guard up, my wit sharper than a viper's tongue, and a comeback for every lame excuse in the book.

Picture this: You're a goddamn empress, ruling your empire with an iron fist and a sassy smile, not some pushover peasant handing out free passes to the peasants who plot against you. Every time you forgive without making them earn it, you're basically rolling out the red carpet for more betrayal—how's that for a plot twist? Me, I'd rather be the villain in their story, the one they whisper about in fear, saying, "Don't mess with her; she's got claws and she knows how to use them." I'm cocky because I know my worth, badass because I've fought my way through the BS, and bitchy because life's too fabulous to waste on phonies. So, stop forgiving like it's your job, and start demanding the respect you deserve.

People know exactly what they're doing, all right—they know how to play you, manipulate you, and discard you when you're no longer convenient. But guess what? You're not convenient anymore; you're a force, a phenomenon, a sassy storm that leaves them reeling. Now, get out there and channel your inner me—unapologetic, untouchable, and utterly unforgettable. Because if you're not living life on your terms, you're just surviving on theirs, and that's a fate worse than any betrayal. Own it, queen, stop being so fucking forgiving, or I'll come over there and do it for you.

Boom, mic drop."

-Steve De'lano Garcia