The Lengths Chicks Go To Reconnect With Guys
[inline:text]Friday at 12:39 a.m.: “Hey, its jen… I’m sooo sorry to bother u but I really, really need to talk to u.” No response.
12:48 a.m.: “ted, pls, i can’t sleep right now and i kno it sounds crazy but ur the only one i can talk 2 and i don’t want to tell u over a txt msg.” No response.
1:03 a.m.: “ok, i guess i’ll just tell u… i’m pregnant, and i think it might be urs.”
[inline:cert]C’mon, babe. I know your lying. It’s after midnight on a Friday night. Chances are you were out trying to sl*t it up and got denied, not sitting around talking to your gyno. Coupled with the fact that Rachel’s boyfriend surprised her at the bar, kissed her on the forehead in front of you, and made you think of that one time I kissed you in the car last summer (in my effort to convince you to give me road head), making you miss me sooo much.
Go run 5 miles, take a shower, shave your legs, put on make-up, and get some f*cking self-confidence. Don’t make up a dramatic, guilt-filled lie in order to get me to put up with your bullshit one more time. If I’m in a good mood, I’ll laugh, pass the phone around to my friends, and then delete the message. If I’m in a bad mood, I’ll insist on paying every medical bill and going with you to every hospital visit, just to watch you squirm and suffer to try and not look like a lying idiot.
But I will NEVER believe that you are pregnant. If you were pregnant, you would a) not tell a soul and get an abortion; b) call me during the day or early evening, try your best to hold yourself together, and go over every detail with me; or c) scream at me for lying about being infertile. You wouldn’t drunk text me late night after Papa John’s says they are closed and you can’t get anyone to drive you to Sheetz.
And while I’m at it…
- Acting distressed over a family member’s illness to guilt me into talking to you. This is not me being an a**hole. You’re being a b*tch for using a serious situation to try and rope me back in. That’s low.
- Ask me if I still have one of your random, meaningless possessions. There’s no way you really care about that $4 hemp bracelet and I know it’s not a family heirloom passed down from grandma.
- Send me a random e-mail/text followed by “Sorry, meant to send that to someone else.” False. Thanks for the ego boost.
- BCC me on an e-mail about a marathon you’re running and a request for donations. I know you want me to think it was sent to everyone in your address book and I just happened to be on there but I know its only a ploy to let me know you’re in shape and hoping I’ll want to bang you again.
- Ask me about something completely unrelated to “us” that you know I’ll have an answer to. “Hey, sorry to bother you but what’s the number to that florist your mom uses.” Use the phone book. Or Google. Or any other one of life’s amazing technologies.
- Contact my friends/family. I might hate this one the most. Not because I’m jealous, but because it’s so pathetic you’d think they’d help you win me back.
- Poke me on Facebook. It’s not cute and innocent. It’s f*cking childish. If I poke back its because I meant to click “Remove Poke,” not that your poke has made me reconsider my feelings for you.
I don’t mean to sound so insensitive but I hope this helps women (and some really p*ssy bros who this also applies to) to avoid making pathetic decisions that make you look like a retard. If you really want me back, don’t do anything. Ignore me and start banging new dudes. The minute I think you’re over me, I’ll call. “