a.k.a. the worst communiques' of all, thank you!
We haven't had an actual conversation in months (sometimes years---you know who you are) and you think it's okay to text me some inane musing, out of the blue, in the evening hour on a random Sunday?
Just because you didn't actually call doesn't make it any less than an erroneous attempt at getting some pirate's treasure.
You are history. I should be history to you by now, for chrissake. I know I am the most woman you are ever gonna' know, but chillax! If I don't respond the first---mmm, 5 times---best thing for your self-esteem is to erase my digits. I know it's hard. I am indeed fly.
But, honestly. If more than a month has passed and it's midnight and the best you can come up with is, "whatcha doin'", I'm on to you.
Times weren't that great between us. That's probably the reason why we broke up. Let's just call it what it is...two words; first word starts with B, second with D, and it rhymes with schmooty rooty.
And it's totally uncalled for. Ha! Un-called for! There's a joke in there somewhere.
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