Hump Day

It's Wednesday again. A week ago, York II texted me, entitling the message "hump day over". Before me, he didn’t even know this little nickname for Wednesday. Both having dirty minds, we'd winked winked at the word play again and again, as if we would never tire of the joke.

I've imagined he’ll never forget me now that we’ve humped on hump day. But of course that’s not gonna be the case. There’ll be other conquests, other legs to hump. And we all know: From the calves you can only migrate up.

Now I think perhaps it was just a simple open-and-shut case of us being both lonely. And in the beginning we were both a little giddy for having someone to fuck. There’s nothing wrong with that. But if there’s nothing wrong with that, why do i feel so lousy?

The last time i saw him, he said, “I want you to know that you are important to me.” So important that he wants to see other women instead. Yeah, that’s convincing.

I'm a little weary of men telling me how wonderful i am, but they don't wanna be with me anyway.

And the worst part? He still has three quarters of a bottle of my chardonnay in his fridge, which i’m never gonna retreive.

Toward the weekend he wrote "maybe we [could] play Scrabble or watch a movie". Which was just code for sex really. He admitted he was uncertain if the sex part was over for him.

What, weekend in sight and no date, so let's keep V. handy? Umm, newsflash, mister? It is SO over!!!!!