reunited and it feels too good
as my luck would have it, my list of able bodied men ready to jump at the chance to help a temptress in distress all live in the great state of miss'ippi. i was up shit's creek without a paddle and resorted to desperate measures to get a little help. as i searched my phone for who to call i made two calls, both placed as pseudo tests of loyalty . . .
the first to the little boy, the second to the perpetual ten year ex, yup you guessed it - the guy who placed me in the pre-engagement girlfriends club also known as "10". these calls would only produce the exact results i wasn't looking for . . .
after spending the day at diva527's washing clothes, i headed to my new temporary home - the holiday inn. i checked my voicemail and was taken aback by the message and the sender. it was 10. our last conversation replayed in my head and my heart floated in a uncomfortable heaviness. i took down his number and debated making the call. i dialed the numbers and after several rings a female answered:
NT: may i speak to 10
un id'ed female: you have the wrong number
NT: excuse the call
dayummmmmm, thank goodness, cuz if that was her, he is bold as hell
dial again . . . he picks up on the second ring . . . and a wave of uncomfortable ease comes over me. as we catch up on small talk, i of course give him the run down of my experience with the little boy. damn my need to look like i've moved on, but hell, ain't nobody sittin around waiting on a soon to be married man.
then the conversation rolls in a familiar direction, a direction that an engaged man could/should never take a conversation. the elephant in the room.
10: can i see you?
NT: ummm, so anyway, can you believe this man stopped talking to me because i left my underwear at his house?
10: are you ignoring my question on purpose?
NT: that is not a question you should ask
10: the question you don't want to ask was answered when i left you that voicemail. are you really that slow?
NT: my inner blonde takes over every once in a while, why don't you just tell me . . .
10: she's gone
SHE'S GONE! WTF? that's what the fuck i'm talking about, i spent hour upon hour crying my eyes out for you to get engaged, buy a house, move a chic in, bicker with her over trivial BS, breakup, call off your engagement and put her the fuck out - all in less than a year and a half.
WTF??????
of course the daytime drama of NT and 10 picked up right where it left off and the quicksand closed in around my old navy flip flops . . .