"Look, I know you have a girlfriend," I was on a verge of losing my cool, as I typed that in a Facebook chat window. I mean, who did he take me for? I could not trust a single word he was saying, even as he was attempting to pay me compliments and telling me that I reminded him of Natalie Portman. And really, in my book, that's a lovely comparison to make.
But not to be taken for a fool as he was trying to butter me up, I knew what he was trying to do. His Facebook page spoke for itself - the numerous photos with a bombshell blonde, the recent flirty wall posts from the said blondie with little hearts at the ends of each sentence, the relationship status, for Christ's sake, all indicated that the boy was in a relationship.
"We broke it off," he said, "Let me call you. I can explain this bs."
"No need to," I replied, "I know you have a girlfriend and I'm not going to mess with that."
Been there, done that. Who would want to be a back-up girl again? Certainly not me.
"It really ended. If you would just talk to me I can explain everything. Let's just say it ended with a shattered Blackberry."
Oh really? I pictured the blonde going through the guy's Blackberry, while he was taking a shower or drinking with his buddies in another room, trying to affirm her suspicions that her boyfriend was cheating on her. I pictured her coming across a flirty text message and storming out of the room, livid that she trusted him this entire time, while he was playing her behind her back. The guy probably tried to stop her from slamming the door in her face, grabbed her... "Stop! Let me explain. It's not what you think!"
She would hear none of it, slapping him across his face with her perfectly manicured hand. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? I found your text messages to her!" She probably ran back to the room where his Blackberry was, grabbed it off a nightstand, scrolled the little black ball down until she found the message and shoved the Blackberry in his face, pointing, screaming.
"Then what is THIS? You're just friends with her, huh? I don't call my friends "baby"!! Don't fucking tell me that it's not what I think it is.. It's exactly what I think it is!"
He probably stood dumbfounded, not expecting this turn of events. And as she saw the blatant admittal of his wrongdoings written on his face, she hurled the Blackberry across the room, slamming it into a wall and shattering it into pieces. She, then, ran out of the house, holding back her tears and slamming the door shut behind her.
And here he was, putting moves on me, probably mere hours after the fight with his girlfriend, telling me how hot and intelligent ("A rare combination" as he put it) I was.
Maybe if I was eighteen and dumb as a rock.. maybe I would feel flattered. Maybe I would even agree to go on a date with him. But at twenty five, I do not have the time to deal with little boys. So I let him go back to his sandbox.
I simply signed off.