A friend of mine, we'll call him Chris (not his real name---yes it is---maybe not) likes to play the cards and wanted me to meet him at the Hard Rock (we'll talk about that porn star name in a later post). He texted me "what time on Sunday?" Without giving it much thought, I texted back, "How's about 2-ish?" It was at this point I began to feel uncomfortable. The whole thing started to feel, well, a little fem-bo, if you know what I'm-a sayin'. He responded with a decidedly gay, "see you there". See you there? What, is this a date? As far as I'm concerned, texting is the same as passing notes in class. Chick to chick, dude to chick, chick to dude. There were no dude to dude notes. The teacher never intercepted the following:
Brent: I totally was gonna wear that exact shirt today! How weird (cool?) would that have been? Meet me after class to dish.
Your Buddy, Trevor
Never happens.
Today's Decklaration: No more dude texts.
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1 comment:
It's true the only men who pass notes are in the intelligence business and we all know what fairies those fruitcakes are.
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