Little Girl

What are you, to feed me fruit, when you already have another?
Not that he seems to care, but you're having so much fun.
Drinking beer, despite the taste. Cheering for the winner.
Not saying you're a liar, but you're lying that it's fun.

Your umbrella broke and I couldn't fix it, left it and
with a wink and a lie, forgot it.
You giggled at the unfunny jokes,
and delightedly shrieked at the falling pieces

But time saw fit to match drink with it's drinker, and
despite your best efforts
you had to retire to the toilet, and after that
your room.

Who are you to feed me fruit, enjoy the boredom and laugh at jokes?
Who are you, little girl, with yourself set aside?