Txt Msge BrkUp

Despite my rant about boyz n phonez, I actually enjoy texting. It’s quick and easy to send, you can reply at your leisure, and I can craft witty, intellectual messages (after I’ve Googled all the words, of course) that make me seem much more clever and snarky than I actually am. I’ve attempted sexting on occasion, and since those occasions usually collided with being drunk, my dirty, salacious screeds (“I wanna lick your cock”) were ruined with autocorrect (“I wore lemon-yellow socks”).

Texting is no place for an argument. I have at least refrained, for the most part, from using my celly as a weapon. (That is reserved for email, where I can pour out my venomous rage and the recipient now has a convenient paper trail to take to his lawyer.)

I have, however, been text-message-broken-up-with. And it is the lowest of the low shitbag moves. It was a relationship over years, not days or weeks, and I had also been the fucking idiot that had cleaned up messes, loaned money (never to be seen again,) supported, cared for, blah blah blah. So I guess I should not have had higher expectations. What got me was the message – started out all full of gratitude and spiritual blessings and three stables’ worth of prime horse shit, before it got to the part about how I was mean and harsh and was too demanding. Then it rounded things off with a “I hope we can be friends.”

My response? Go dark. That is my version of text message breakup. I leave them hanging, wondering if I actually got it. And they will never hear from me again.

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