The Triumphant Return of Mr. Wrong

21 Mar

Hop in the car…I try to plug in and charge my regular phone, but notice I’ve been charging my “ho” phone.

Yeah, I’ve been using my ho-phone…because……in order to post personals ads on the internet, I don’t want to use my regular phone number in case somebody turns out to be a creeper. To post an ad on the internet, you have to use this code that they send to your phone.

I turn the phone on.
Oddly two minutes later it beeps…it’s some funny photo from Mr. Wrong.
I’m thinking its some old message but no, it’s from two minutes ago.
I reply with a laugh. Then comes his subsequent reply:
“How are you, I miss you.”

Immediately I erupt in laughter. Like, halle-fuckin-lujah, Mr. Wrong is back!
The way I was cheering, you would think I just got saved by some backwards superhero.
I think I even let out a “woo hoo!”

He wants to see me.
He wants to drive to my house.
I’m not at my house.
He wants me to call him.
I don’t call.

As you can see, there’s triumph in Mr. Wrong, but I am in no hurry to go backwards towards reminders of my dirty fucking past.

I’m thinking , “My ex and Mr. wrong in the same week. My past is haunting me, and I don’t like it. This isn’t happening.”

But then I’m also thinking,
“Hey, I quit my job for a guy, and now that guy doesn’t want me. Maybe this is Karma telling me I deserve to have some company, and I deserve to have some fun.”

I’m fighting with it.
I’m wrestling with the idea.
I really don’t feel like fucking anyone.
I don’t feel like tapping into my underlying tendency towards sexual addiction.
In my weak moment, I don’t feel like getting wasted just to get laid. I really really don’t.

So I say don’t come over.
I say I’m not home.

But, you don’t know persistence until you deal with Mr. Wrong.
He’s one persistent motherfucker.

I say I don’t wanna fuck.
He says we don’t have to.
Says we can just “hang out.”
Which we all know is weak man’s code speak for “fucking.”

Fighting it, fighting it…..head spinning.
Saying no…yet I’m simultaneously cleaning up my room.
The same stressful feeling of wanting to vomit that haunted me in Nevada are now haunting me in my hometown.

I’m thinking “I shouldn’t be here. He could come by. Why does he have to know where I live? I need to leave. Why do I have to give flings my address? Why does he have to be so persistent!?”

He calls again.
Reluctantly I pick up this time.
He asks if I’m mad.
I explain how I got dumped.
How I’m mad at life, not him.
I explain my situation.
Explain I don’t feel like fucking.

Then the thing I wasn’t expecting: He says he and his lady broke up.

“Yeah right!”, I said.
Don’t believe it for a second.
He insists he’s telling the truth.
Broke up a week ago, he says.
Can’t be the man she needs.
Can’t be at her beck and call.
The sexual attraction is gone.

No no no.
So well timed.
His timing is…impeccable.

I caved.
Now he’s on his way over.
Maybe one day I WON’T be attracted to chaos…until then….here we go.


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