What do you do when you see an ex….strike that, THE Ex, the person who was your first love, the first person you made plans with, the person who ripped you heart out and used it as a keychain, in broad daylight; run and hide is the standard. A more secure person may smile and politely make small talk. A smarter person would implement castration. Hey, it’s a viable option and that’s not my fault.
I spoke to my ex on the phone before I ever saw him in person post-break up.
He called my PSO line. Talk about de ja vu.
It was one of the easier calls I’ve taken imagination wise. It was also one of the hardest because of all the giggling. Was this macho amateur boxer so hard up for chicks that he inadvertently had to call me to get off? The same man who refused to have sex with me for the last month of our relationship?
Irony, I love you.
When the automated one minute warning came on, I had to strike a blow. If not for me, then for every woman out there who didn’t have the lady balls and forever regretted not taking the opportunity to give that heartless rat bastard the blow to the ego (aka testicles) that he deserved.
Thirty seconds to go and I can hear his breath speed up and other sounds that indicate that he’s not far from blowing his…lid.
Twenty seconds and I ask in my breathy turned on voice “I have a question…is your last name S—-?”
Ten seconds “Wha-? I, mean, who….who the fuck is that?”
“No one. Just some asshole I used to date.” Click.
Enjoy your blue balls! Mwahahaha!
Miss Mrs. 