I saw it in your eyes: the way those electric blues raked over my form. Up and down. Down and up, and all over again.
I saw it in your smile: the way you threw your head back; smirking and scoffing in utter disdain for my person.
I saw it in your hand gestures: the way you snapped your fingers, and pointed down to the empty seat opposite you. Even the way you waved down all my suggestions.
You thought less of me. Like I brought nothing to the table but a pretty face, a spoilt attitude and my famous granny's trust fund.
You never gave me a chance to wean you out of your prejudice. You never tried.