Internet Dating & Me

This is a bit of a belated story, but what the hell, I'll tell it anyway. Shut up, you know you like it. I said, shut up and listen.

Great. Let's begin.

So, this last February the 14th, whilst I was in bed with a handsome man (sleeping! we were sleeping. where does your mind go? yeesh.), I was awakened at an ungodly hour by a random text message. I didn't recognize the number and all it said was this (I have recreated the horrible texting vocab and grammar for authenticity): Ive been with ethan for over a year n just found through his text msgs hes been seeing other woman. Vday gone bad indeed.

Well, hello, delicious mystery! Come on in with your intriguing self, why dontcha. Yeeeeahs, so I didn't know who this chick was. Didn't recognize the number or even the area code. Only Ethan I know is my friend's 2 year old. Doubt it was him. But it was absolutely delicious, so I saved it.

Because I could only think of a few options. One, I know this girl but not well enough to program her into my phone. Which begs the question: who texts something so personal to someone they barely know? Two, it was a wrong number. But who actually manually types in numbers anymore? You just text folks in your address book.

It was a mystery. Lynnette and I figured out a little later that day that it was a Washington number. Really? Who did I know from Washington? My friend's husband is from there, but I doubt he'd been seeing someone named Ethan for a year. No I was pretty sure it wasn't him.

A few weeks later, I was at Morgan's birthday party. And I tell this story to my friend Yarissa. Now, I love this little lady, because she goes, "I'm gonna call it." Love her. So she does. From her phone. And it goes to voicemail. Apparently it's Ethan's phone. The Ethan in the text message. The one who apparently cheated. Yaya didn't leave a message.

But that's when it all comes rushing back. Ethan. From Washington. Who would have my number. I met this dude like 2 years ago or so on effing Match dot com and we went on a couple of very painful dates. So he must not have erased my number from his phone (bee tee doubleyou, who DOES that?) and when he cheated on this chick (who was apparently snooping in his phone, because they must have a VERY healthy relationship), she must have mast texted his entire address book.

What now? Well, hello, delicious, delicious ghetto ass people. Come on in for my personal enjoyment. This is better than Court TV. And you know what I say to that? Dodged a bullet on that one. Dodged. A. Motherfuckingbullet.

And thus why my stint in internet dating only lasted a few months. Thank you, Match dot com for the wealth of experience.

And scene.