Sunday, February 12, 2012

Sunday is self-flagellation night

Sunday night is generally when I have time to actually get online and continue my pathetic attempt at socializing. It also is apparently when other people have the same luxury of time.

Anyway, I'm emailing my sister when a chat message popped up. I've learned to view this development with nervous apprehension, because, well, if you've read my blog at all, you know why.

I waited for the name to pop up, figuring it was Flirty Whats-his-face who is hell-bent on making me tell him to get lost.

It wasn't. That wasn't at all comforting. This look familiar?

hey
how ru ?
do u like tall men ?

Are you freaking kidding me? The same bozo from last week who had a very hard time grasping "no means no?" And apparently, it's not that he's trying to make amends, it's that he completely forgot that he already tried his obviously foolproof body-centric textese come on.

The worst part is that I am so unrememberable. Maybe I need to dye my hair pink or fill my profile with stories of baudy past lives or accidentally on purpose confess to being a secret agent.

Oy. I thought about responding thusly: "You chatted this to me last week. I was not interested. We're done here."

I didn't. But I thought about it.

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