I’ve decided to start a Wednesday feature–called Storytime! Yay!!! I know, you’re all excited. Anyway, random stories, actually put into story time. They might be true, they might not. They might be remnants of my days scratched onto paper, they might not. They are what they are, and they’re here for your literary enjoyment! Here’s number 1!
They’d been seeing each other for a month or two. Nothing serious, just casual. Hanging out, grilling out, making out. Nothing serious. Nothing serious at least twice a week.
They’d spoken on the phone only twice during this whole relationship. She loved it that way—she hates the phone. They usually made their dates via text—this is what the 21st century has done to dating. And I use the term “dating” casually. He took her out for dinner once, but usually they just drank wine and watched Family Guy at his place—occasionally he cooked. It was the perfect courting relationship, she thought.
She didn’t have time to do this whole six hours a day on the phone, hanging out nightly, in constant contact lovey-dovey shit. She just didn’t. She was 23 and had a “life,” and goals and dreams and all that other stuff—duh. This, in her mind, was again, perfect. He was cute, had a dry, sarcastic personality, drank red wine, was a good cook, had a job, a house, you know—important stuff.
And her best friend said he should feel the same. “You’re the least needy girl I know—you hang out when you feel like it, but you’re not begging for it. You’re funny, you drink, you’re easy,” *conversation interrupted by a punch in the gut* “I’m totally joking about that one! But seriously, you’re like the girl every guy *thinks* they want.”
So, after three weeks of no contact, she started to wonder what was going on? Six beers into an evening, she did exactly what she wasn’t supposed to do—she texted. The skies became cloudy, and the heavens wept as lightning crashed into the ground and the whole town started on fire—she knew she shouldn’t have done that.
June 2, 2008:
MSG1: Hey—what’s up? Where you been?
Reply: Oh, just got home from a badminton tournament.
MSG2: We should hang out sometime—just an idea.
Reply: Yeah, totally, we should—but I’m kindof in overtime right now and things at work are busy and I don’t get home til like 7 at night and you live like 20 minutes away and it’s just like, so far, and it’s busy…
MSG3: Okay! That’s cool… (a lady never begs)
Reply: I mean, I’m not like trying to tell you anything—like it’s not that I don’t want to hang out anymore, I’m just really busy.
MSG4: Sure, no biggie. I mean, I can drive at night thanks to that lovely invention called headlights, but it’s cool…when do you think you’ll be free/unbusy/not playing badminton?
Reply: Yeah, I mean, I don’t really know—probably in the middle of July?
*She tightly held on to hope* and soon enough, her guardian angel swept down and kicked the shit out of her while screaming—He’s just NOT that into you—for heavens sake, even I read the book! Get a CLUE!