If you had just told me the truth, I probably wouldn't have turned away from you. As it is, I can't now. I'm just trapped. If you had told me the truth right away, I wouldn't have badmouthed you to all my friends and relatives. I wouldn't have told everyone I know how much you suck and how I feel cheated and used. How next time, I'll know better.
There were warning signs. Oh, there were. But I closed my eyes, delighted at your availability, your cool. My friends were all jealous. They wished they could live in my world. Except now they're patting my back and wiping my tears and laughing behind my back at what a sucker I've been.
And it's not like what you said could be construed as an "exaggeration." It's not. It's a LIE. A plain, bald-faced LIE. If I say that I make a million dollars a year as a supermodel when I actually make a tiny fraction of that as a frustrated tech writer, that's a lie.
And when your packaging says that you will last one hundred hours on a single pair of AAA batteries and you last less than thirty, you pathetic bargain-brand noise-cancelling headphones, THAT'S A LIE AND I HATE YOU.
I'll heal. I'll hold my head high again. Someday.