My friend came over for lunch yesterday. While we ate, she recounted the following story.
She was on the subway the other day, when a man came up to her, and told her that she had the nicest ass he’d ever seen.
“I don’t have an ass,” she replied. Because in all honesty, she basically doesn’t.
The truth didn’t deter him, so he gave her his number. A few days later, sad about breaking up with a boyfriend, she called him.
He showed up with a 5 o’clock shadow, looking far worse than she remembered him. He was also French.
They hung out for a bit. For most of it, my friend talked about her multitude of sadnesses.
When he left, he started texting her things. Dirty things. Things that not even I can write on this blog. Because I don’t have the original transcripts.
She finally wrote to him: “I’m not ready to date, I’m sorry, can we be friends?”
And he wrote back (she copied and pasted this part in a text message to me):
“hey sorry I can’t b yr friend I find talking bout yr white trash ex boring. And ur slightly unhinged. But text me if u want to have sex some day to let steam off…It’s spring time!!! cheer up!!… + am hung like horse and us seem tight so you might get off gd”
He had me at unhinged.