by Penelope Smallbone
Last night I waited up for a boy to come over. He never did. I should have known better — this is not the first time this has happened.
He was one of those “bad” boys that I met and chose over the nicer, less exciting ones. This one is quantifiably bad, and happens to be the bartender at my favorite local bar. (Like I said, I should have known better.) After the first mutually satisfying hookup, we spent a few weeks texting back and forth with no outcome other than the occasional stop-in to his bar for some flirting. Last night I gave into my needs. It was freezing in my apartment and I had spent 2 hours watching a romantic comedy that made me realize how badly I need to get laid. I made the executive decision to text the bartender to come over and help satisfy my needs. After weeks of lukewarm communication, I had nothing to lose.
Text 1: “You should come over later. It’s freezing!”
A positive response! He writes back: “It is. And I just might…”
And after two and a half hours of slow texting back and forth, we left it that he would head over after playing cards with the boys. Fine. Like I said, I was more a little desperate. It’s been a while and small things in my daily life are starting to turn me on. It’s rather inconvenient to be sitting in a work meeting where all I can think about is that my client probably looks great naked. (Terrible, I know… But true.)
So I waited up. At first it was fine. I was finishing a movie. Then I got online and chatted with some friends. By 2:30 I was getting sleepy so I gave in and went to bed, phone nearby in case he should call. At 3:30, I’m still not asleep. I can’t stop thinking about the phone. By 4 I finally got to sleep. No calls. I woke at 8:15 this morning, tired, frustrated, cold and alone. I feel worse than I did when I was just bored, alone and turned on by every character in the romantic comedy. Now I’m wishing that I hadn’t contacted him at all.
Women focus a lot of energy on respect. We want to be respected by men and we feel it’s important to respect ourselves. I think it’s obvious that there was no respect given last night. A decent person would at least call and put me out of my sleep-deprived misery. And I clearly wasn’t respecting myself. Not even close! I was blinded by my hormones, and now that they’ve been tucked away again I feel like shit.
It’s obvious why you might be frustrated with yourself after a one night stand or meaningless hookup, and feel bad that you gave a piece of integrity in exchange for a piece of ass. But I didn’t even get the booty last night! I’m just stuck here, down one in morale with absolutely nothing to gain. (And, no, I probably did not learn my lesson this time.)
Oh well. At least I’ve become a pro at knowing how to completely delete someone from my phone.