I remember a golden age. An age where men would take you out, buy you dinner, send flowers, call to see how you were doing...all in an attempts to get laid. Come on, we're not stupid. We know that ultimately 90% of all sweet actions are to get laid, and the other 10% are for blowjobs. Okay, maybe it's not that bad...but let's be honest, it's CLOSE. Does that sound seedy? Reading over this now, I guess it does sound a little depressing to admit that the larger purpose of courtship is to get to my goodies. What's more depressing, though, is that it's not even the norm anymore. Think of the last time you've been on a REAL date... going to a 24 hour diner after meeting at the bar does not count, by the way. Are you stunned? Read on, sweetheart.
This latest rant stems from a guy I gave my number to last Saturday. Since then, Booty Caller has texted me on Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. All after 9. All asking what I was doing specifically that night. Those two factors alone are enough to qualify his genuine concern as to "whats up" as booty texts. Now I understand that 80% of college aged males only want to get laid, and to be honest, I am fine with that. But where did the effort go? Really, he can't make the effort to text me in the afternoon to try and get me in the sack? He can't ask a day earlier to make it seem like he's not a huge tool? There is no effort to disguise it...
And why? Because it is normal. Do you remember when booty calls used to be kind of gross? I remember back in the day when someone could be looked down upon for being the kind of guy who sent texts post 11 pm, inquiring the all important question, "Whatre u up 2?" I'm starting to realize that is what MOST GUYS DO though! It has come to the point where I am literally stunned if a man asks to see me to actually spend time together, coherently, in the daytime. Maybe I'm wrong, but I always thought my peak level of wit and intellect occured while I was coherent and in the day time! I never thought I was that interesting after 4 shots of Jack, slurring the words to "Hey Mickey" (Great song, by the way, just listen to the pain and angst in those lyrics).
The habit is ingrained. I tried to break him of it, I did...by rejecting his booty calls. But they kept coming. And that does not make me an idiot, it makes him an idiot. Because for some reason he thinks his strategy of trying to drunkenly pressure me into hanging out with him while I'm already having a blast with my friends will work. Does he not realize I am not sitting at home waiting for said booty call? No, Booty Caller, I do not want to "meet up." I am out. I made plans. And I do not intend on changing them so you can drunkenly slobber all over me, wake up, leave, and continue this process. Try asking me out for coffee, kid.
Ignoring what was probably a mass text anyways,
Ivy
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