Well, well, well. Guess who decided to finally show up at my desk yesterday? Mr. ex secret boyfriend. Casually sauntered up as if he hadn’t been completely ignoring me for WEEKS!!
Too late, bucko! This ship has sailed!
(no it hasn’t)
As we were catching up he mentioned he was heading to the shore for a long weekend. That’s pretty much code for “I’m going to go get wasted and bang any girl with a pulse.” At least it was when I was his age. Only I wasn’t banging girls. Actually, I never did that. I lived at the beach one summer – or actually for three weeks because I hated it so much and my roommate was whoring it up with several married men and I couldn’t take it so I left.
I told him not to get pregnant and he looked so confused. He said, “Um. That’s not how it works.” And I said, “Dude, you’re going to the shore. If it’s going to happen, it’ll be there.”
- Him: Good point
- Me: I know. Anyone could get pregnant down there.
- Him: I have faith that if I’ve gone this long without getting anyone pregnant that I’ve figured out how it works and I’ll be fine.
- Me: And that’s exactly when it will happen – just when you think you’re safe.
- Him. Damn it. You might be right. If that happens I’m going to come over here and yell at you. Probably with a baby in my arms.
- Me: Aw. The baby would be so cute.
- Him: I’m leaving.
- Me: (yelling after him) MAKE SMART CHOICES!
See what I did there? See? If he bangs a girl now I’ll be in his head. He’ll have to think of me when he’s inserting his peen in some girl’s vajeen. He won’t be able to help himself. It’s practically like we’re boning, only with a surrogate vagina.