Chapter Thirty Four; To Text or not to Text?

And so I texted him back, "In your dreams, Romeo.”

I was relaying to Sonja and Julia how I’d picked up some entertainment in the form of a hot texting stalker the prior weekend out. It was an interesting distraction from the crap week I’d had. Although by doing this I am absolutely compromising my convictions. And I am not talking about talking to a stranger I met at a bar. Oh no, that’s harmless fun in my book. What’s more concerning is that this texting junk may end up being the downfall of civilization as we know it. When our communication is relegated to 160 character digital grunting....what does this say about the status of mankind?

Exactly.

I have safe guarded my cell phone number over the past six months and enjoyed the reprieve. But due to recent developments in my life, I decided it might be a fun distraction to throw it out into the universe once more. One stupid phone number exchange later I am definitely being entertained, but only by the ridiculousness of it all.

Although Julia does feel it necessary to make one observations, “You’re texting? You never text! You never reply to me!”

“That’s because you’re missing a vital piece of anatomy,” I retort.

Julia pretends to be appalled but she can’t hide her pride.

(I have been told that one of the best things about being friends with me is that I possess this innate talent to be crude off the cuff. Fortunately (unfortunately?) I am zero act and all chatter.)

Julia and Sonja are proud of me for getting out of cold storage and getting on with my life. They actually called it “flirting.”

I correct them immediately.

Exchanging meaningless digital banter with someone I talked to for all of 30 seconds is hardly in the cutesy coy category. Besides, this whole situation is just the consequence of a dare from a friend on our way out of the bar. “Cheer up! Pick the hottest guy in here and just give him your phone number.” I was actually sober and pissed off enough at the time to follow through with her asinine suggestion. So I did. I grabbed a guy whose job must require him to be naked half the time (Calendar model? Stripper?).

Might as well aim high. (low?!?!)

"Hi! I'm Audra. Do you want my phone number?"

Alright, I'll confess I got a huge boost in the ego department when he looked like he'd won the hot babe lottery with his enthusiastic, "Hell yes!" response.

One week later our texts consist of him repeatedly trying to compliment himself into my pants. And my consistently insulting his transparent player attempts.

Its so poetically beautiful I could cry.

The experience has been strangely satisfying. What? Are you accusing me of appointing myself spokesperson for all women mistakenly sucked in by testosterone charged bullshit?

Damn straight.

Because to Texting Romeo I am now the "Impossible Challenge Girl." Which means, I hold all the cards, all the power.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ah hem. Sorry . . . got a little carried away there for a minute.

Well, if I am going to be Juliet, then forget the dagger, I have my cell phone. And it is not pointed in my direction.

Oh no.

I think its time to give this Romeo a little poisonous taste of his own medicine.

160 characters at a time.