You cry at the sight of puppies. At pretty sunsets. At certain shades of pink—actually, you cry at the sight of all colors—they’re all so pretty, it just makes your eyes get misty! You are one easily bruised banana, honey. You’re a blubbering emotional mess who really needs to get your feelings in check. Pull yourself together.
You wear your heart on your sleeve, which means your sleeve is extremely messy and often requires dry cleaning. You feel the entire spectrum of emotions, from joy to despair and from anger to affection, at high intensity at all times. Maybe you should give some of your feelings to someone else, because you clearly have too many.
Despite your namesake, you are definitely not a virgin when it comes to taking things too personally. People feel as if they have to tiptoe around you for fear of triggering your minefield of emotions. You can’t receive a compliment without twisting it into an insult. You’re such a tangled mess of raw, exposed neurons, you wonder if there was some hidden agenda and they were actually trying to hurt you. When someone tells you that your hair is pretty, inside you’re thinking, “What the hell was THAT supposed to mean?!”
I’m sorry, what was that you said—the lights are too bright in here? And it’s too crowded? And the music’s a little too loud? And the drinks are too strong? No, it’s just that you’re way too sensitive! Huh—that was mean of me to say? Thanks for proving my point!
You tend to feel things more deeply than those around you, but you’d never let any of them know that. If you’re really into someone in a romantic sense, you’re very sensitive about what they think about you. If you don’t like them, meh, it doesn’t matter. More than any other sign, you can go from sensitive to numb depending on where you are on your monthly cycle. This is why it’s a good idea to always carry extra tissues and tampons with you.
On the outside, you’re a bull; on the inside, you’re a little baby bunny. Social appearances are very important to you, so even if you’re crying inside, you’ll paint on a happy face for the world to see. You’re very sensitive and empathetic up until the point where someone goes out of their way to hurt you; but once that happens, you’re a hissing cobra.
You’re ridiculously touchy about yourself, what’s said about you, and how other people perceive you. But when it comes to the feelings of others, sharks have more empathy. When your friend comes over and tells you that her house just burned down, your response is, “Oh, yeah? Well, I just had to pay a late fee on my car insurance.”
Your ego is big enough for two—three, actually, if you’re flying coach. Inside your head plays an endless tape loop of “I’m great…I’m wonderful…look at me…get out of my way, you peasants!” Since you provide your own endless source of reassurance and affirmation, you don’t care if anyone loves or hates you. You figure that if they knew the real you, they’d love you, so if they don’t they must be stupid. Even so, they should have sent you a birthday card…even though you didn’t send them one.
For you, the scales are tipped in favor of not giving a single flying fuck. You don’t go out of your way to hurt others, but if that bitch didn’t want to hear what you thought about her new dress, she shouldn’t have asked you. Who the hell wears a dress like that, anyway?
Like the archer after which you’re named, your harsh words can send an arrow straight through someone’s heart. Your insults are crass, crude, calculated, and meant to destroy. Who did they think they were trying to eat French fries off your dinner plate without asking, anyway? But oh, well, now that they’ve gone to the restaurant bathroom to cry, why not help yourself to a taste of their potato salad?
You woke up this morning not giving a fuck, but that’s probably because you went to bed last night not giving a fuck. You may have given a fuck about something a couple days ago, but you can’t really remember and don’t give enough of a fuck to even try to remember. You may give a little bit of a fuck that people accuse you of not giving a fuck, but you don’t give enough of a fuck to do anything about it. But don’t get me wrong—you have fucks to give, but you keep them in a safe-deposit box under lock and key.
You don’t give a fuck. You don’t even HAVE a fuck to give. You sold all your fucks long ago. Someone could hit your emotions with a brick and you still wouldn’t feel anything. Someone could break a plate over your feelings, and all you’d do is ask for another plate. Your evolutionary advantage is that you have two personalities, so if one starts to feel a little touchy our pouty, you just slip into the other personality as if it were a freshly laundered suit and you’re good to go again, zero fucks given.