In my experience, there are only two kinds of flirty-texters (flexters?): those you're not particularly attracted to physically but encourage anyway because there's always the chance of the apocalypse leaving only the two of you to re-populate this little rock we call home, and the ones who are totally out of your league and would not acknowledge your existence in public but don't mind a little dirty chat from the other side of the great electronic divide. It's likely we've all found ourselves wedged firmly under one of these categories, but I'm yet to find somebody straddling both roles in the same relationship.
Admittedly, I'm drunker than I was when I started on this post (thank God for 'save') and you'll forgive my shortcomings on the entertainment front. This is the story of this girl I know who was born for the out-of-my-league category. I mean I think very highly of myself (or lowly; just depends on my mood, really) and I can't think of anybody who might approach her confidently, swaggeresque. We had this flexting thing going till she started seeing this Abercrombie and Fitch-type guy, and I thought, you know, "well played, fair enough". This guy had muscles where I have vices, dimples where I've got issues. He could spell, too.
Till today morn when she texts me out of the blue saying: "I can almost smell the weekend, feels like a humpday!" What am I supposed to make out of that, really? You know. Of course you know. Turns out everybody knew except yours truly. When the hell did we start calling Wednesdays 'hump days'? I know (or I found out, rather), it's been a while, right? I don't care. I'm pissed. I'm disappointed and I'm embarrassed 'coz I may or may not have replied along the lines of: "damn right it's hump day - about time too, you big pricktease!"
Admittedly, I'm drunker than I was when I started on this post (thank God for 'save') and you'll forgive my shortcomings on the entertainment front. This is the story of this girl I know who was born for the out-of-my-league category. I mean I think very highly of myself (or lowly; just depends on my mood, really) and I can't think of anybody who might approach her confidently, swaggeresque. We had this flexting thing going till she started seeing this Abercrombie and Fitch-type guy, and I thought, you know, "well played, fair enough". This guy had muscles where I have vices, dimples where I've got issues. He could spell, too.
Till today morn when she texts me out of the blue saying: "I can almost smell the weekend, feels like a humpday!" What am I supposed to make out of that, really? You know. Of course you know. Turns out everybody knew except yours truly. When the hell did we start calling Wednesdays 'hump days'? I know (or I found out, rather), it's been a while, right? I don't care. I'm pissed. I'm disappointed and I'm embarrassed 'coz I may or may not have replied along the lines of: "damn right it's hump day - about time too, you big pricktease!"
