Curse the Damned Old Princess

A few days ago I was riding a jeep back to my dormitory. The trip in that jeep is an excruciating hour. I promise you that. Well, only a quarter of my butt was touching the edge of the seat, meaning I'm in a squat position. There's enough space for me to sit properly if that damn old hag would just give it. She said, "I cannot move. My [grandchild]'s leaning over the window, and he needs some space." Really now? Is he that special? What kingdom are you from? Last time I checked you don't pay for your comfort, you only pay for your seat.

I was cursing the whole hour. I was glaring at her when she had the chance to look at me.

And it doesn't stop there.

When there was enough space, she placed her big bag on the seats, forcing the girl to move seats.

Prima Donna much?

I hate her to the last of my nerves. I know you would, too.