Secret Lovers

I've had it with guys. I mean it this time. No, for real.

Nothing gets my rubber burning more than mixed signals from a member of the opposite sex. Is it not enough that we sent dumb text messages incessantly back and forth for the last six months?


Him: I miss you cutey.
Me: I normally don't like being called cutey, but for some reason i like it when it comes out your beautiful mouth.

Him: My day wasn't complete without you.
Me: It was as if there was no sunshine today without you by my side. My day was bleak, empty like the leftover egg shells from my omelet this morning.

Him: I wish you were here.
Me: I wish I was there too. In fact, I wish I were anywhere that was above 50 degrees F about now. It's f-ing freezing out here! How's the weather there?


Seriously? I mean I totally just laid myself out on a silver platter. I returned every mildly flirtatious text with a more overt invitation for a relationship, no? So I thought I had laid the groundwork. It was established that we liked each other. I have written proof of this.

Then tonight it went down. The phone call. The voicemail, "Hey it's me. Just wanted to see if you wanted to kick it." Despite the fact that I cringed when he said the words "kick it," I decided to overlook that slight error of judgment and go hang out for a bit. I wear my awesome cream colored space cowboy boots, with a nice coral colored blouse, and dark jeans. I got "man approved" by a friend, specifically Nabila :-). I sucked it in. No, literally. I sucked my stomach in for a slimmer silhouette when I rang his doorbell.

He was looking great. I was looking great. It was perfect. We sit on the couch for a bit, chatting. He doesn't call me cutey. I'm disappointed. I cross my legs to show off my toned legs. He gets up and gets a glass of water instead. We then watch some TV together. He doesn't look at me once, keeping his eyes glued to the newest episode of some god-forsaken cartoon or whatever. I follow suit. (Hell, what was I supposed to do at that point anyways?).

But here was my chance. He LEANS OVER ME to grab the remote that was next to me. I feel the muscular sinews of his chest graze my knees. I shudder in excitement, but maintain my calm exterior. As he's grabbing the remote, I kind of jerk my knees ever so slightly, sending him the signal. Instead, he's like "woa watch it. i don't want the wind knocked out of me." i pseudo-laugh, eyes still glued to the cartoon watching a cartoon soft drink yelling at a round cartoon hairball.

It was over. I was willing to overlook the penchant for cartoons. I was willing to overlook the occasional use of unattractive slang words like "kick it." I was even willing to look over the fact that he had a slight unibrow. But if ur not going to catch the drift, you might as well not be sailing, buddy.

I then told him I was tired, got up, and left. I deleted his phone number in the car, and drove off into the night while slurping on a McDonalds milkshake because I felt like punishing myself for the rest of the day. I have now concluded that it is, indeed, true. No guy will ever be good enough for me and no guy is worth having to force yourself to eat McDonald's, either. Lesson learned. Moving on.