Hey, Girl
Hey Girl,
Thanks for making an effort to talk to me last night. I did notice and I do appreciate it. In fact I thought you were really cute. I enjoyed that brief period where I held your hand and dragged you on to the dance floor for some song I don’t even know. You’re a good sport. Here’s the thing. As soon as that other dude started getting fresh I kind of stopped giving a shit.
Hey…hey.
There’s no need to explain yourself. I understand how the whole alpha/beta thing works, I guess. At least I pretend to know how it works. I guess I feel like I can’t discount your role in my fuck up. You had every opportunity in the world to not back me into a corner where I had to thump my chest and play hot water sprinkler over everything to mark my territory. I’m not that kind of person and I never will be. I don’t think that little of girls.
I don’t believe you need a barrel-chested self-confident bag of swag to walk in, take charge and tell you you’re going home with him. Maybe I’m totally wrong and you do. Maybe I should stop projecting my failure as a male on to you. Maybe, call me crazy if you want to, there’s more to life than this continuous dick-swinging contest that I’m quasi-compelled to take part in. Who knows?
You’ll never read this, which is good because I’m still drunk from last night, but I want you to know that even though I’m a yellow-belly and bad at being a bro…you’re cute and I totally would have done a kisses with you.
