If you haven’t read it yet, I wrote a little story a few weekends ago about a very long trip home after a very long night out. The link is here.
Not one of my prouder moments, but you know what? F*ck it.
So today, I thought I would take the time to write a little letter to Career Man, since obviously communication via text no longer works.
Hey Career Man,
It’s me. Again.
Remember that one time when we met? And then had a sleepover and it was totally weird the next morning? Yeah, me too.
Well, let me set something straight.
When I texted you the next day, I did not text you because I thought it was the best time of my life and the conversation was thrilling.
I texted you because I want my damn ring back.
That’s right. None of this petty sh*t that I left it there just to “stake claim” or “have a reason to see you again.” (Which is what my guy friends said that it seems like if a girl ever leaves something behind.)
No. Bull sh*t.
That damn ring fell out of my bag somewhere in your room. Why on f*cking earth would I ever purposely try to see you again? Not that you weren’t cute, but you have the conversational skills of a toad and I’m still mildly embarrassed about how much I rambled about parks and stuff.
So, please, come down off your high horse for a second. Stop thinking that you’re God’s gift to the world, and maybe check on your night stand or under your bed. It’s not like your room is Middle Earth. You don’t have a whole f*cking realm to explore.
The Girl Who Wants Her Ring Back