My first successful blog post was about an ex, so it feels fitting that another story about an ex would bring me back to the blog. Slightly more surprising (or not, to my closest friends and family) – it’s the same ex. But those damn ex’s have a special way of sticking around. Mine, fortunately, makes for great content.
This is the part of the blog post that I would like to let you all know that the following story isn’t cute, but it’s 100% real and a true sneak peek into the life of a single 20-something. I also want to take a quick moment to explicitly state that I genuinely care about the ex in question. Through all of the ups and downs over the last several YEARS, I have always maintained that he’s a good guy with decent intentions (however, my friends and I do call occasionally refer to him as Satan…). This blog post is not intended to embarrass or humiliate. I guess I just wanted to share with you the hilarious, crazy, ridiculous “dating” bullshit that us single gals have to deal with. And more than anything, to explain WHAT NOT TO TEXT YOUR EX.
*LE SIGH* Here we go.
It was Easter morning. Jesus had risen from the dead. And apparently, so had my ex. I awoke refreshed and rejuvenated after a relaxing evening of actively doing nothing, ready to start my day with church and spend a few hours at a coffee shop. The universe had other plans for me. A missed call from an eerily familiar number blinked aggressively on my phone. It has been many moons since I had received a late night phone call, especially from this specific number. In fact, the last time I talked to the man on the other end of that number was when I, through broken tears, shooed him out of my house many months (yes, we “got back together” for a little bit. yes, I know that was silly. no, I do not want to talk about it.) earlier.
Curiosity has always gotten me into trouble. And I am the first to admit that the things I am not supposed to do are always the most fun. I obviously had to know why he called. *Narrator: SHE DID NOT NEED TO KNOW WHY HE CALLED*.
“Well, well. Look who else rose from the dead today. You ok?” I sent through, hesitantly, cyberspace.
I bounded through my morning routine (bc apparently I have one of those now!!).
My phone pinged. “Yeah, sorry, I’m ok.”
Good. I can move on with my day knowing that he didn’t need someone to run him to urgent care.
NOT SO FAST, HOLLY.
“What are you doing?” bolted across my screen. “I was hoping you were still in your room.”
Now…why does this kid care what I am doing and if I am in my room…OMG – no. Surely, no. I mean, IT’S EASTER. Let’s not jump to conclusions…but…MAYBE?? Is that what is happening? I haven’t had my coffee yet….
“…are you trying to sext at 10 am on Easter????”
I’ll spare all the details, but it went a little like this:
“Are you having a stroke? ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE OKAY?”
“Maybe. Possibly. Not really. I still really want to be gross and vulgar over texts even though I know I have treated you like shit for years and have no intention of apologizing or making it right.”
But, I’ll tell ya what. The boy had cojones. (pun only a wee bit intended.) It was a BOLD inquiry. And at 10am on EASTER SUNDAY after not speaking for MONTHS.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I considered all of my options and was dangerously close to meeting up with him to at least ensure that he wasn’t having a break with reality. 2016 Holly would have jumped at the opportunity, absolutely certain that he had changed and he had finalized realized that you are The One (THAT ONLY HAPPENS IN MOVIES, BABES And certainly doesn’t start with sexting). BUT NOT 2017 HOLLY.
“I took your proposition under some serious consideration, and I’m going to have to respectfully decline. As always, I wish you the very, very best. I just refuse to open this can of worms again”
“Not even some tom foolery?”
“Still no. Not happening. I can’t believe I even considered it,” and I press send, feeling accomplished and proud that I had FINALLY reached another (well overdue) adulting milestone. I kept that dangerous door to the past firmly shut and that is not always an easy feat.
And as if a gift from God himself, moments after I had resisted Satan’s temptation, my phone rang. It was a cute bartender I had been talking to, we’ll call him…Samson (to stick with the religious theme and also, manely, because he obviously has incredible hair).
“Um…hello…???” I answered cautiously, certain it was a butt dial.
“Hey girl. Figured I’d call you, it’s easier than texting. How’s your Easter?”
Better now. Much better now.