Every now and then a guy will resurface on my whatsapp, or chat, that I’d completely forgotten about.
You know ‘dem ones.’
The mandatory maintenance text that outwardly says ‘sup’ but means ‘I haven’t forgot you. We could still hook up.’
These monosyllabic reminders of the fuck ton of bad choices I once made keep me real. They taught me to discern the fuckboys from the sexual opportunists. I can tell a waste of my time in under 10 characters now. It’s like being able to find my way home drunk. Second nature to me.
After oh so many mini relationships that went no where, booty calls who I’d catch feelings for, and average sex I could live without, I decided to stop wasting my time.
These people were not making me happy. I wish them the best, but they got all the time out of me that they were going to. If I was going to spend my time frivolously, I’d rather waste 20 pokeballs trying to catch an angry Seadra, than maintaining sporadic contact through a series of boring whatsapps.
I stopped getting in touch. Not because I was bitter, or mad at them. It was the sanest thing to do.
Yet, much like the elusive bus that only appears when you light a fag, the minute you stop bothering with some guys they step up their text game.
Why get in touch with someone you aren’t interested in? Why assume some type of emotional vigil is being held for you? If you want to get all nostalgic have a wank over your mum’s Mary Kay catalogue, or watch The Goonies.
I don’t get guys who flip their shit because I won’t assist them in the delusion that they were my best pal and would put my life on hold, until they got their shit together.
Case in point: Colombian fuckboy.
It started with ‘Hey’
Seriously dude, get a thesaurus. What followed was monosyllabic inane small talk and questions about my love life, which culminated in him asking when I would be coming to see him in Colombia.
I haven’t seen this guy in 2 years. The only response I could think of that was both honest and appropriate was LOL.
He did not take this well and told me I obviously didn’t care and to forget he’d said anything.
Hey buddy, chill. You text me. Remember? I was happily eating Jaffa cakes in a dick free zone when you felt lonely.
A month later my pal text me again to tell me he’d moved to Mexico and to ask whether there was a chance I’d be moving back there. Or was I still mad at him?
Say what now?
Nothing makes me find block and delete quicker than a guy who doesn’t have a clue. I get that he thinks he made a mistake. I didn’t though. Maybe he can use this story to hit on new chicas.
What he won’t be doing is interrupting biscuit time again.