The Chronicles of Goddess Potato

As most might have guessed by now Goddess Potato is a “she.” And being the proud vagina owner that she is, like many others she has encountered a few– well a bunch– of fuckboys.  Now, what exactly is a fuckboy? In Goddess Potato’s life, every man that walks in is one unless he proves otherwise.  A fuckboy, she says, is not the guy who sucks at texting and replies hours and hours later. Sometimes he starts with an apology but sometimes he just starts with a simple, “Hey, how was your day?”  A fuckboy is the guy who sucks at texting and is proud of it.  He’d leave you on read and won’t text you the next day or the day after unless he is horny again or needs help with calc homework. A fuckboy is not the boy who asks you questions or gives unnecessary explanations when questioned about something. A fuckboy is not the boy who wishes your best friend a very happy birthday when he sees your story on snapchat.  A fuckboy is not the boy who see...

It was a relatively cool pre-summer morning of April 2011. The school was buzzing with activity, students in white and white running around, boys throwing chalk at each other, showing off their athletic prowess to the pretty girls standing in trios in corners of the class, conversing in hushed voices, with the occasional pointing and high pitched laughter. Then there was a group of boys, the less athletic kind, who sat around a table, playing games such as tic tac toe, Hollywood Bollywood, pen fight and simultaneously stuffing their faces with cheap canteen snacks and homemade parathas. The young goddess potato was a part of this group. She was a plump little girl, with height more than all the boys at the table save one, and a light brown streaked shoulder-length wig that brought out her dark brown eyes. She didn’t feel like a black sheep with them. Those boys treated her like one of their own, like their bro, but at the same time, each of those guys would protect her like a fragi...