Commitment and I aren't really friends. I can't really say that we're enemies, since I flirt with it and let it buy me drinks from time to time, but we're no Laverne and Shirley, no Bert and Ernie, no Oscar and Felix. Which is not to imply that commitment and I are an ambiguously gay duo. It's just that commitment and I are never in the same place at the same time. Either it's ready to take the leap while I'm ready to hop on a plane, or I'm rearing to go, and it's lost interest with anything but my rear.
True story: I broke up with my very first boyfriend after only three days. Quick preface: I had been pursuing this kid for about three and a half months prior. Granted, I was in ninth grade, and yes, he did call me about 13 times in a span of two hours even after our first conversation reached a lull approximately 3 and a half minutes into it, but what was I doing? Commitment showed its face, and when it looked more like Britney Spears (an ever present force that is so irritating you wonder how you ever liked it) than Shakira (a refreshing little number that never gets tired with the ass of a god), I slapped it like the cheap whore it was.
So commitment, what's the deal now? Did you check the right box in the "do you like me? Yes No Maybe" note I sent? Ready to have that awkward "where are we now" conversation? No?
Well, let me buy you a beer, and we'll go from there.
May 30, 2007
Bangalore, India
2:29-2:49pm
Cleverly leaving a ten minute buffer between the end of this story and when the boss is due.
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1 comment:
Give her the prize
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