Invent a definition for the word flangiprop, then, use the word in a post.

I sat at a table outside the bar, my hands shook, and tears ran down my face. I took a gulp of vodka from my seventh glass—or was it ninth? I don’t know; I stopped counting. Besides, who cares, right? I wiped the tears off my face with my shirt’s right sleeve. Damn the people who’d judge me, I thought.

“Hey, come on,” someone said, sitting next to me, “stop crying now—it’s not worth it. They’re not worth it.”

I sobbed, loudly, and took another gulp of vodka. “How could I have been so blind?”

Sithri took the glass from my hand. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

“It was!” I countered. “I trusted them too much, especially Hank, even when I knew his trails of infidelity.”

“And that is on him,” Sithri replied, “whatever he did, he chose to do it, and it was not your fault they went behind your back.”

“I should have been more cautious,” I cried, gasping for air, “his being nice shouldn’t have made me believe he could actually change, that he could be a good friend without being predatory.”

“You trust anyone, yes,” he began, “that could be a fault, but this does not make any of this your fault alone.”

I sighed, tried to take the glass of vodka from Sithri’s hand, but he moved his hand away from me.

“No,” he raised his voice, “you have had too much already.”

I was still panting from too much crying. “There is no such thing as too much vodka for a broken heart.”

“Oh, will you flipping shut up!” He yelled, tugging my arm so I’d stand up. “Look, right from the start everyone knew Hank was a flangiprop, and you trusting him was not a mistake. Everyone knows how he is—he befriends you when he sees something he wants from you, and then plot to steal. Your being too optimistic for people’s goodness was never a fault in its own. It was his selfish behavior that is.”

I was speechless. I needed that, or did I? I had no words.

“Look, his excuse that he merely fell in love and did what he thinks people would have done when they’re in love is bullshit. He made love an all-purpose excuse for his selfish behavior.”

“Sithri,” I started, “thanks for being here,” I continued because I did not want to hear any of it anymore. I just wanted to drink more vodka and cry. And since I couldn’t do it, I’d rather go home.

“Always,” he smiled, “you are my twin brother after all, no matter how different we are, we are one.”

I stood up, with Sithri’s assistance. “Stop being over melodramatic now, okay?”

“Look who’s talking about being melodramatic,” he smirked. “Let’s go home, so you can cry in a more comfortable place and without embarrassing our family.”

“Good idea.”

flangiprop (n.) /ˌflæn-dʒə-ˈprɑp/

a person who intentionally befriends others with the intention of taking what they have

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