I miss you...r vagina

You may recall that I’ve previously mentioned that I stopped really dating, if you can call what I’ve been doing the last 6 months dating. I am not desperate enough to resort to on-line dating and the bitterness Melvin left me towards men does not make me an ideal candidate for men, which leads to most of my weeknights spent at the gym and then watching Netflix and becoming consumed in fictional characters love lives. The closest thing I have to a healthy relationship right now is me cursing the stair master everyday then saying sorry when my pants aren’t as tight the next week.  

 Lately though  my Thursday nights have started to get a little more exciting, the last three Thursday’s, starting around 9:30 the drunk texts start to pour through from men I’ve left in my past. I think it is a testament to my taste in men that for the last three weeks in a row I get drunken texts sent on a Thursday night. They generally follow the same pattern, it starts with a hey with one too many “y’s” followed by a “what are you doing baby” and finishes with an “I miss you.”

Let me decode this for you, anytime there is an extra y in any text, it means hi, I am drunk, any time there is a, what are you doing, from a random man that you've slepted with, it means come over and sleep with me, any time they say “I miss you” it means porn and lube just aren’t going to cut it tonight maybe I can trick her into sleeping with me. Men, this is about as sneaky as asking a girl to come over and watch a movie. You don’t miss us, you don’t really care what we are doing or what’s new with our lives, you are just drunk and horny and sending out a text to anything with two legs and a heartbeat, vagina optional at this point.

I get drunken texting, I could write a short story with the embarrassing drunken texts I’ve sent through the years but I save them for weekends you know why, because at 11 at night, when I am consumed with Vampire Diaries, telling me you miss me does not make me want to hop in my car and come over, it makes me want to punch you in the face. Also, I am probably sitting at home in an over sized old t-shirt, dirty sweat pants, unshaven legs, zero make up and red eyes from crying over the fictional characters love lives. You don’t want that girl to come over, hell even the ugly girl at the bar by herself is a better option than me at that point, maybe she shaved her leg, go bug her.