I explained the rules at match point. My father loves his mother. No one loves my father. What is the emotional equivalent of the discountenance lining the cloth of the tiring pallbearer, reluctantly holding you. (Nobody eats the mint from the mint leaf you old f**k)
No number of exhausting references to your self declared cheerlessness will make you any more pathetic than you already are or is it John Mayer you are listening to, maybe in the throws of singing along “Fathers be good to your daughters,” you caught sight of yourself bent over in shame and realised just how f**king redundant you (not really) are (really).