Gurl PowR!
Flushed with frustration, you pick up your phone and call Garrett, who you have listed as "Honeybun". He hates this, of course.
"Hello?" answers a confused, ditsy-sounding, female voice.
"Hello? Who is this?" you demand.
"UmÂ…who is this?" she giggles.
There you are, lying half-naked on your bed next to a dead vibrator talking to some girl who is answering your boyfriend's phone. A cramp nails you in your left lower abdomen. You grit your teeth together, feeling your face turn cherry red.
"Put Garrett on now!" you shriek hysterically. The tears have begun rolling down your cheeks like big bowling balls, knocking against your fingers which quickly brush them away.
"Ok, relax, girl," she says. "Here he is."
"Yo, sup?" answers a very relaxed male voice. It's Garrett, decently stoned, obviously in what he calls his "groove".
"What's up? I'll tell you what's up! Some chick is answering your phone, that's what's up. Who the hell is she?"
"Relax, baby. That's just Dolly. You met her, remember?"
Who could forget Dolly? That's not her real name of course, but they call her that because she's small, blonde, and most important of all, has disproportionately ginormous tits. You hated her the first moment you saw her, and you hate her even more now. It is not at all a consolation that little Miss Topheavy has just answered your man's phone.
"Look Garrett," you begin in an even tone, which quickly slides upward as you start to lose control. "Why do you think it's ok to have anyone but you answer your phone? I'm having like the worst day of my life and I get to talk to DOLLY of all people? Can't you grow up? That's completely fucking inappropriate!"
"Whooaaa, babe, you gotta chill out. Tell me nice and calm what's wrong and the G-Man will make it all better for you."
"Ok, G-Man," you mock him. "This is my little dilemma. I need sex. NOW."
"Nice," he laughs. "I'd be happy to help you out later, babe, but right now I'm jammin' with the band."
"What's more important? The band or me? I just finished telling you I was having the worst day of my goddamn life!" You are now screaming at the top of your lungs and don't even bother wiping away the tears anymore. You hate your period! It makes you an undignified mess every single time. And he isn't making it any better for you!
"Babe, you need some pot," is all he can manage to say.
"I don't need any fucking pot! I need a fucking dick!"
"I've got a dick," he offers helpfully.
"Fuck you, Garrett."
You think for sure this will snap him out of it, but a long pause ensues. Finally, he breaks the heavy silence.
"Hey, I just thought of something," he says philosophically. "Just because they're called danishes doesn't mean they're from Holland. Heh heh. Heh. Cough. Heh heh."
Without saying another word, you snap your phone shut. What a complete and utter waste of time he is. You have no need for Garrett. None at all! You're a strong woman!
But immediately, you break down in tears, sinking dramatically to the ground, punching your bed until your fists turn red.
"Why why why WHYYYYYYYYY?!"
You hope that maybe your roommate is home and will come knocking at the door. Anyone to share this misery with! But the apartment remains completely silent. You are alone with your unbearable pain.
But as the old saying goes: "An ass for an ass, a tit for a tit". It's time to score a point for Team You.
Throwing your jeans back on and hastily applying the bare basics of makeup (foundation, eyeliner, blush, shadow, and gloss), you charge out the door with a heart set on vengeance.
How are you going to reclaim your ass and your tit?
"Hello?" answers a confused, ditsy-sounding, female voice.
"Hello? Who is this?" you demand.
"UmÂ…who is this?" she giggles.
There you are, lying half-naked on your bed next to a dead vibrator talking to some girl who is answering your boyfriend's phone. A cramp nails you in your left lower abdomen. You grit your teeth together, feeling your face turn cherry red.
"Put Garrett on now!" you shriek hysterically. The tears have begun rolling down your cheeks like big bowling balls, knocking against your fingers which quickly brush them away.
"Ok, relax, girl," she says. "Here he is."
"Yo, sup?" answers a very relaxed male voice. It's Garrett, decently stoned, obviously in what he calls his "groove".
"What's up? I'll tell you what's up! Some chick is answering your phone, that's what's up. Who the hell is she?"
"Relax, baby. That's just Dolly. You met her, remember?"
Who could forget Dolly? That's not her real name of course, but they call her that because she's small, blonde, and most important of all, has disproportionately ginormous tits. You hated her the first moment you saw her, and you hate her even more now. It is not at all a consolation that little Miss Topheavy has just answered your man's phone.
"Look Garrett," you begin in an even tone, which quickly slides upward as you start to lose control. "Why do you think it's ok to have anyone but you answer your phone? I'm having like the worst day of my life and I get to talk to DOLLY of all people? Can't you grow up? That's completely fucking inappropriate!"
"Whooaaa, babe, you gotta chill out. Tell me nice and calm what's wrong and the G-Man will make it all better for you."
"Ok, G-Man," you mock him. "This is my little dilemma. I need sex. NOW."
"Nice," he laughs. "I'd be happy to help you out later, babe, but right now I'm jammin' with the band."
"What's more important? The band or me? I just finished telling you I was having the worst day of my goddamn life!" You are now screaming at the top of your lungs and don't even bother wiping away the tears anymore. You hate your period! It makes you an undignified mess every single time. And he isn't making it any better for you!
"Babe, you need some pot," is all he can manage to say.
"I don't need any fucking pot! I need a fucking dick!"
"I've got a dick," he offers helpfully.
"Fuck you, Garrett."
You think for sure this will snap him out of it, but a long pause ensues. Finally, he breaks the heavy silence.
"Hey, I just thought of something," he says philosophically. "Just because they're called danishes doesn't mean they're from Holland. Heh heh. Heh. Cough. Heh heh."
Without saying another word, you snap your phone shut. What a complete and utter waste of time he is. You have no need for Garrett. None at all! You're a strong woman!
But immediately, you break down in tears, sinking dramatically to the ground, punching your bed until your fists turn red.
"Why why why WHYYYYYYYYY?!"
You hope that maybe your roommate is home and will come knocking at the door. Anyone to share this misery with! But the apartment remains completely silent. You are alone with your unbearable pain.
But as the old saying goes: "An ass for an ass, a tit for a tit". It's time to score a point for Team You.
Throwing your jeans back on and hastily applying the bare basics of makeup (foundation, eyeliner, blush, shadow, and gloss), you charge out the door with a heart set on vengeance.
How are you going to reclaim your ass and your tit?