You and I became casual friends, but the only reason I've stayed in our friendship is your boyfriend. I've witnessed firsthand how he's treated you like gold, supported you both emotionally and financially—yet you nag and criticize him for the littlest things. You brag about how great he is in the sack—yet you complain that he wants sex more than once a week. He has taken you on vacations, dinners, dates that sound amazing—but when we all hang out, you spend half the time avoiding him. If I didn't know you two were together, I wouldn't even think you liked him. When you do spend time with him, you constantly shush and restrain him, like a prudish Victorian who has a child she wants seen but not heard.
You are a beautiful, shallow twat with low self-esteem. You keep tearing him down so he won't notice that, besides good looks, you don't have much to offer. He's witty, goofy, sweet, gentlemanly, good-looking, and loyal (I've flirted with him a few times, and he's never responded).
He's starting to see through your bullshit and manipulations; cracks are appearing in your hollow shell of a relationship. I'm doing all I can to hasten the day that liberates him from you. When the time comes, I'm going to be all the things for him that you never were. I'm going to cherish all the little things that make him unique and endearing, the things that you ridicule and deride him for. I'll thank my lucky stars every day if he and I can be together.
So why am I giving away my plan, giving you a heads up so that you can thwart me? You don't read The Stranger. Your boyfriend does.