You were close. So close. The speech was written and prepared, you drank two beers and a shot of whiskey to get your nerves up, the air was crisp on your walk over and you were PSYCHED. You repeated “I just don’t want to do this anymore. I just don’t want to do this anymore.” over and over in your head in time to your steps as you marched with purpose over to her house. You rang the buzzer and climbed the familiar steps you looked forward to never climbing again. At her doorway you made a mental note of the now-forgotten snow boots outside her door and gauged your feelings about never seeing them again. You felt nothing. You tested the knob, locked, and made that farting noise with your mouth that you use to pass time as you waited for her to open the door. “Here we go.” you mouthed to yourself as the door swung outward.
She is wearing your favorite t-shirt. And no pants.
An hour later you are lying in her bed and the only speech running through your head is the cacophonous repetition of the word “Fuck.” as the prospect of another week of dating this awful person becomes a reality you cannot avoid. You are a pussy and she is not even wearing the t-shirt anymore.
photo via
You were close. So close. The speech was written and prepared, you drank two beers and a shot of whiskey to get your nerves up, the air was crisp on your walk over and you were PSYCHED. You repeated “I just don’t want to do this anymore. I just don’t want to do this anymore.” over and over in your head in time to your steps as you marched with purpose over to her house. You rang the buzzer and climbed the familiar steps you looked forward to never climbing again. At her doorway you made a mental note of the now-forgotten snow boots outside her door and gauged your feelings about never seeing them again. You felt nothing. You tested the knob, locked, and made that farting noise with your mouth that you use to pass time as you waited for her to open the door. “Here we go.” you mouthed to yourself as the door swung outward.
She is wearing your favorite t-shirt. And no pants.
An hour later you are lying in her bed and the only speech running through your head is the cacophonous repetition of the word “Fuck.” as the prospect of another week of dating this awful person becomes a reality you cannot avoid. You are a pussy and she is not even wearing the t-shirt anymore.
photo via
