Much has been said about us. The heart breakers, we don’t take promises seriously and we leave melancholy in our wake. Yes the assholes.
We have a care free attitude that borders on psychopath. I mean what else would explain our ability to pretend to care? It took sometime before I finally came to terms with what I am and what can I say, life just got easier.
A few weeks ago I met this damsel. She was fine AF. I use AF because that’s as far as her fineness would take her- the bed and or kitchen but never to my mother.
We had quite a striking conversation on how men are assholes (ironic much) and how she had been hurt one too many times. The thing is if you play your cards right a pity party turns into a panty party – and that’s my kind of party.
I would nod ever so often affirming how my species is deceptive and the occasional rub on her arm for reassurance. Those two work like a charm and soon she starts seeing you as an eligible partner with a future as bright as her colored yoga pants.
It however as I came to learn not a one day thing. This went on a for a few weeks up until yesterday. As we sat on the edge of my bed and she was mumbling how she wished every man was as sweet as me. Her eyes stared into mine and she leaned in for a kiss.
Here’s the best part – you just slightly touch them and then move away. Say something about taking things slow. You have to make everything look like their idea and bam! You bang. You have that awkward moment when she is looking for her brassiere and trying to steal glances at you but you couldn’t care less. As soon as she is out of the door so is her memory. Her number gets deleted and you become the biggest asshole she ever knew. You ignore her texts for the next few weeks until you see her looking hot on instagram – of course you double tap, come up with a half baked excuse of how your phone was stolen and the heavy guilt you felt for exposing her innocence etc etc. Before you know it… Well panty party! Round two!
Well, until next time