My cousin's wife (who was, at the time, a pregnant 17-year-old whose opinion may have been biased) summed it up pretty well:
"You're kind of, well, weird, and, um, actually nobody likes you."
I have one I think I might like better:
"I talk too much, laugh too loud, cry too easily, and can't seem to keep my foot out of my mouth-- but you, wow, it must suck being perfect."
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"