Thus began the great text contest.
Abraham, self-proclaimed "Not good at this" and "Better at text" was present only in my phone inbox. He teased me with being home in bed while I powered through work the following day.
Two days after making out with him, I woke up on a Sunday morning with what would become Walking Pneumonia and the Cough from Hell.
I groaned and rolled over in my bed. I'm sick. How could I have gotten sick? I closed my eyes and sniffed. I thought of co-workers who have possibly infected me. Lord knows I haven't been around other people...
My eyes snapped open. Oh yeah, there was the whole making out at 4 a.m. by the dumpster of the bar incident.
It was raining outside. I rolled over again and snatched up my phone.
I'm sick and I'm debating whether or not to blame you. Send.
Buzz. It probably is my fault. It's also my fault that there's no power right now because of the lightning I provided.
I looked out the window. Just a light shower. There's no lightning downtown. Send.
Buzz. Give me a minute. I work slow on Sundays.
A few days later, the earthquake happened on the East coast.
Buzz. I'm being blamed for earthquakes now too! How ya feeling?
Like I dropped out of a butt. Send.
Buzz. I've never been dropped out of a butt. How was it?
Shitty! Ba dum dum. Send.
And that became our excuse to contact each other. Instead of two grown adults who say things like I enjoyed having your tongue in my mouth and would like to arrange for that to happen in the near future, our rapport became based on the weather. But not just any old comment on the weather. We had to be witty and breezy.
A few days later, Hurricane Irene came for a visit. Thanks for diverting Hurricane Irene away from Mexico for my upcoming trip! Send.
Buzz. Oh good. I was focused on keeping her away from Jacksonville where I'm headed Friday. Pushed her away from Mexico by accident.
When I stepped off the boat, I turned on my phone. As promised, Tallahassee was already blowing up my phone with texts and a Facebook friend request. I tweeted. Real life resumed so quickly.
There were zero missed calls and zero text messages waiting for me. Maybe because everyone who contacts me was on the boat with me. But Abraham's absence was noted.
As I climbed in the car for the drive back to the city, I sent him a short text.
Buzz. Wow, they let you back in the country? :)
Whatever, the country's net worth just increased with my presence!
Because of beer and liquor sales, right? :)
A group of friends were sitting at a bar a couple of days later watching the college football games. I looked at Lawyered.
"So I sent back to Abraham, 'I have five more days before I return to work; we should get into some trouble soon.' And he responds that he partied too hard in Jacksonville and is taking the next two weeks off from drinking."
"Silly girl," laughed Lawyered. "That was a test. He was testing you. He only knows flip-cup you. Making-out-by-a-dumpster you. What did you send back?"
"I don't think I responded at all."
"You were supposed to say. 'Who said anything about drinking?'"
"I didn't say anything about drinking! I crafted a 'We should get into some trouble soon.' There was no set day or activity. If he liked me, he would have worked with me. I don't think that invitation was too dense."
"Sarah, who says 'We should get into some trouble soon?' That is such a guy response. Seriously!"
I stuck out my lower lip, beginning to pout. "I thought it was good! It was non-committal and a little bit flirty!"
Then Schmoozer's BF opens his mouth and drops the bomb. I slump busted in Mexico. These people didn't know that.
Lawyered smacks his hand down on the table and laughs uproariously. "Oh! Oh! This is rich! You are all hung up on some guy and you had sex--" he starts counting on his hand "Three days ago!"
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "That was different! That was vacation sex! That's not real-world applicable. It's been compartmentalized!" I hissed at him.
"You're a dude. I'm convinced of it," he responded. "Only a guy would say vacation sex doesn't count and then ask a guy out by offering to 'Get into some trouble.'"
Schmoozer's BF was wiping tears away from his eyes. Lawyered's BF was snorting with his head down. I wanted to lunge across the table and strangle them all.
"You don't like this guy," Lawyered continued. "If you did, you wouldn't have shtuped this other guy on vacation."
"Uh, I'm not putting all my eggs in one basket for some guy I've never gone out with. That's completely ridiculous."
"Yeah, you're 30. If you have any eggs left," he teased.
I shot him the stink eye.
"Okay, okay. You like this guy? This is what you do. You failed the test. You text him on a school night and ask him to go get a yogurt after work with you. There's a Pinkberry right around the corner."
Lawyered paused thoughtfully, "Or you should just shtup him. That'll get you a dinner date before anything else will."
Monday night (aka, the school night):
Could I interest you in some all-ages fun? Perhaps a coffee or an ice cream after work this week? Send.
Buzz. I'm actually booked for the week, even without drinking! I've gotta keep you waiting.
Eff this. I stared at my phone incredulously. If he had just sent the first part, I would have deleted him out of my phone and never given him a second thought. But how the hell do I respond to "I've gotta keep you waiting?"
I paced my bedroom floor. I would want you good and rested and on your A game, so you let me know when you are available. Send.
That was it. That was my A game. This witty banter back and forth, this was the best I could do. I'm tapping out. I went ahead and deleted his number.
A few days later I received a picture message from an unknown number. It was Abraham holding a German beer stein.
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack! His abstention from alcohol was over.
I groaned. Now I have to be witty again. This is starting to hurt my brain.
Brilliant! It must taste as holy as God's tears! Send.
~Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Thus began the great text contest.