So, the three o’clock hour came and went and I never heard from Ginger. It’s a good thing, too. I was busy in line at Publix with the boy and then headed over to have dinner with my friend and his daughter tonight. I’m having a hard time coming up with a nickname for him. I must consult him tomorrow to see what we can come up with when we put our head together.
I did, however, get a text from Ginger at nearly 11pm. Typical.
The eleven minute phone conversation went like this, “Blah blah blah me me me. How are you? Great. Me me me, me and my libido. Tra la la la. Blah blah blah.”
I interjected every now and then with a stirring, “Mmmhmm,” and a glitzy, “Oh cool.” My engery level was… here ___.
Then I was just like, “Dude. Level with me. Why the sudden attempt at a reconnection when it’s been a month since I’ve even heard from you?”
He goes on to tell me that when he masturbates he thinks about our sex.
BARF. Dude. Seriously.
Then says, “Is that wrong?”
Then proceeds, as expected, to proposition me… You know, let’s take a walk down Unavailable Lane and hold hands and shit. Skip to my Lou.
I shut that shit down quick.
I am, among many (many!) other things, a fantastic lay. I am not, however, a fucking hole.