I’m not really surprised to see you hanging around here again. You always show up this time of year.
It’s like you do this on purpose. You come around just to remind me that it’s been a whole year and you’re doing fine on your own, while I am once again here, without a date. But you know something? You are so fake. No literally. You are made out of fake leaves and berries. You can hang there and look as great as you want, but I know the truth. You are faker than my cousin’s “real” Michael Kors watch. I won’t allow myself to get upset because of you. I know that I am awesome and that anyone would be lucky to kiss me all year long and not just under your leafy shadows. I mean, have you seen my lips? They could totally make Kylie jealous. So, Mistletoe, you can shove it. You are no representation of my worth.
Your name can be loosely translated to sh*t stick (i.e. mistle=dung, toe=twig) and you have no power over me.
See you next year you judgmental little twig,