I am currently back in my hometown for Thanksgiving, which means I am spending the majority of my weekend bumming around my parents living room, eating copious amounts of food, and watching a ridiculous amount of TV (I am pretty sure that they get at least 50 new channels every time I am home). I get into this lazy trance of falling into a food coma and not moving from my horizontal angle in front of the television, while watching shows that are mostly about investigating horrific murders because, well, that’s just the kind of shit that floats my boat. Anyway, while I was blissfully enjoying watching some dude be beaten to death with his own shoe, my phone started to vibrate. Ugh. Who is texting me at this hour? (6pm). I looked down at my messages to see that it was one of the guys I had recently gone on a date with. My first thought was “Great. I am actually not in the City, so I don’t have to try and come up with an excuse as to why we can’t hang out” (because, you know, that’s much easier than telling him the truth, that while he is pretty and I enjoy staring at him, I could no longer see him because being in his company, doling out pity laughs, is my version of time spent with Hitler. Although, something about Hitler’s ironic facial hair tells me that he probably had a wicked sense of humour). Turns out this dude was also back in his hometown and bored (clearly he hasn’t found the wonderful world of Criminal Minds and The First 48). Against my better judgement, I texted him back “that sucks”. About an hour went by and I didn’t hear anything. SUCCESS! Or so I thought. My phone went off again. Hoping that it was my mother texting me because she simply forgot I was currently in the same house as her (it’s happened before), I looked at my text. It was dude and it simply read “What are you wearing?” Seriously, buddy? Was that some sort of unfunny auto correct and he really meant “what are you doing?” Naturally, I was intrigued and replied “What am I wearing?” Right away I got the response “Yeah. As in undies, no undies etc. I am bored” Look, I know that times have changed and chivalry is dead or whatever the f-ck, but this guy took me on one date, a date that I had to painfully pity-laugh my way through and at the end of the night our private parts were nowhere near the realm of being introduced to one another. Whatever made him think that he was now privy to finding out what kind of a sexter I was is beyond me. Maybe because he dropped a couple hundo on the meal and I denied him my lady bits that night, he felt like something was still owed to him. Whatever the case may be, I decided that I should take the direct honesty route with him this time. My response: “I am wearing my mom’s old Christmas socks because I forgot to bring my own home with me and walking on a marble floor is a lot colder than you would think. The socks have little penguins on them that act like “no-slip”” grippers, which I find annoying, because I like to pretend I am figure skating when I walk on our hardwood floors. Anyway, I am also wearing a really old pair of man’s pyjama pants that used to belong to one of my ex boyfriend’s – turns out he was good for something. My favourite pair of underwear that say “paws off” on the ass and then I’ve topped off this stunner with a black tank top and an over-sized purple hoodie that I stole from and refuse to give back to one of my guy friend’s.”
“P.S I really appreciate you asking me what I am wearing. I felt like I was at the Emmys.”
I didn’t hear back form him for about 30 minutes, which I assumed he was using to “take care” of himself after the sexy description of my attire. Then finally my phone vibrated again. “That was quite the descrip…u should b a writer…” Yeah, and you should start using full words and stop texting me.
I am currently getting buzzed with my dad over his delicious homemade Caesars.
What’s everyone wearing?