I’m typing this with Flamin’ Hot Cheeto-dusted finger tips. Life is hard. Relationships are HARD. Especially when they’re imaginary relationships with secret boyfriends who are busy dating other people because they don’t realize that they’re in a relationship with you. Ugh, I freaking swear. How hard is it to get a little attention from your secret boyfriend??
So as I wrote earlier he’s off on a date – probably with the woman of his dreams – while I’m busy on the couch dissecting EVERY SINGLE interaction we’ve ever had to see if I can determine what it all means??
Last night I may or may not have sent him a message on Facebook. And then I may or may not have checked Facebook every 15 minutes for like ALL NIGHT waiting for his response. And did he? No, he did not. And did he read it? Yes, he did, approximately 20 minutes after I sent it. WTF? I mean, I know hard to get and all, but seriously? This is bad, right? This means we’re breaking up, right?
Listen, living life as a 15 year old angsty insecure teenager in the body of a 34* year old woman is totally getting old. I think life was just easier when I didn’t have a crush on someone who is young enough to be my son (assuming I got pregnant when I was 11), and was busy catching up on all the “Game of Thrones” seasons (Hodor). But, no! I just had to start talking to this hunky dreamboat with green eyes and now I’m torturing myself.
This morning I went running to a friend of mine to tell him EVERYTHING. He was super ecstatic and informed that this dreamy dreamboat with the green eyes was totally interested in getting in my knickers. He was, however, playing the LONG game. Apparently, the reason that he didn’t respond to my Facebook message is that he doesn’t want to seem to eager (bullshit). And also, apparently, the ball is in his court.
Fuck his ball.
And fuck his court.
But also, I totally hope he stops by tomorrow and tells me how horrible his date was and that he totally wants me and then he touches my boob. That could happen, right? Or, you know what’s probably going to happen, because this is what happened the last time I really liked someone? He’s totally going to hit it off with her, then in 2 years they’ll be engaged, and in 3 they’ll be married, and she’ll be pregnant.
And I’ll still be sitting on this couch eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and wondering why I’m still single.
*Or 41, whatever.