For the most part, this weekend was pretty chill. I cleaned, packed, and watched TV. But then Saturday night happened.
This weekend the following things may (or may not) have happened on Saturday:
- I might have drunk texted an ex of mine to meet me at the bar because I “missed his sexy body”. (Yeah, those were the words.)
- Subsequently, I might have set up dinner at Morton’s with said ex for later this week because he couldn’t make the bar – just him and me. (His words.)
- Some kid who was 21 may have bought me shots after regaling me with stories of midgets, transformers, and how the South will rise again.
- Then, later that night, I might have met up with another guy at the bar once he got off work.
- And we might have, subsequently, kissed.
- And maybe, we set up a date for the following Friday.
Yeah – okay, I’m pretty sure all of that happened – and all of that happened on the same night – which in some respects would totally make me a whore – or at the very least a tease, but since I technically didn’t actually sleep with anyone, I feel I get to escape one of those monikers for another week.
In the harsh light of Monday morning though, I’m actually seriously confused. The internal war rages on. You see, my head and my guts are telling me this is what I’m supposed to do – but my heart is telling me that it’s a bad idea. And which do you listen to when there’s an internal struggle of this magnitude?
Alcohol. That’s who.
Ps: I’m addicted to this song.