It’s just a typical day. You’re hanging out in a sister’s room after class, latte in hand, catching up on each other’s lives, loves, and littles. Of course, catching up for you means 5% talking about jobs, vacations, and shopping trips, and 95% overanalyzing each other’s love lives. You’re deep in the middle of stalking your not-boyfriend when the unthinkable happens. You accidentally like a post on his wall. From LAST summer. Cue panic attack.
Shit. What did I just do?! Shiiiiiit. Oh my God. I can play this off, right? Think damage control. What would my risk management chair do? Ha, like I could ever think like her. Unlike that shit immediately. Ok, that’s done. He still gets a notification though, right? Oh my Godddddd. Is there a way I can play this off?
What if I text him and explain myself. Could that work? “Hey Chris! Don’t mind me, I just happened to stumble upon this really dreamy shirtless picture of you from last summer. I was showing it to all my friends to prove that you really do have great abs. Oh, was I stalking you? Yes, but the part where I liked it was totally an accident. No big.” Oh my god, I’m so creepy. I will never find love.
He’s not online. I know he hasn’t seen it yet. What if I hack his Facebook? That’s acceptable, yes? Literally, no idea what his password is. Dog’s name? Nope. What about his grandmother’s name? Still nope. Why do I know that? So embarrassing. Whatever. My name? NOPE. Does he have no soul?! Hmm. Wonder if he’s still logged in anywhere. I could always text his roommate. I’m sure I could bribe him with baked goods or alcohol or rush boobs or…I’m so creepy! I’m getting creepier now than I was when I liked his picture in the first place. Actually, no. That was still the creepiest thing I could have possibly done.
I could always steal his phone. That’s acceptable, right? I can make this happen. “Hey Chris! Let’s hang out. I’m going to
show you my tits convince one of your pledge brothers to distract you while I get rid of that notification. Then I’m going to get caught into the trap that is your phone and make myself an emotional trainwreck while I overanalyze every single one of your texts and Facebook messages for hours.” Is there no way to rectify this that ISN’T creepy as fuck? Maybe I should just distract Chris with my boobs. That’s always worked in the past. I’m such a slut. No, I’m not. Ok, I am, but only for a good purpose. It’s different.
He’s going to think I’m so creepy. I’ve ruined everything. He was supposed to be my husband! My monogram looked so good with his last initial! Our future children would have been adorbs. I already have our Pinterest wedding completely planned. All he had to do was look good and get the ring I’ve already picked out for him. I mean, we haven’t gone on a date yet or anything…but we were totally going to! My life is OVER.
My phone is vibrating. My phone. Is vibrating. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but PLEASE don’t let this be him. God, if you’re listening, I’ll let that bitch from exec have my first-born daughter’s name, I’ll never drink again, and I promise to to stop making my poor risk management chair have a weekly migraine from dealing with me. Amen. Time to check my phone. It is him. Whatever, we all knew I couldn’t keep those promises anyway. I can’t check it. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Ok, I have to. He hates me. It’s all over. This is the end of my life. Alright, moment of truth. Aaaaaand open sesame.