When you bought me, you picked me among all the headphones in the world, had me shipped overnight, and ripped open my packaging on arrival.
We’ve had our fun together. You have me sing you the hip hop classics, the nostalgic rainy-day music, the British pop-rock that always has been and always will be your guilty pleasure. And I am always happy to oblige. Because we have something.
We have a history together, dammit. What were you thinking? Do you know how it felt to see you cheating on me with that skinny white bitch that came with your iPhone?