Every time I see the little number one pop up in that round red circle on my phone’s Facebook app icon, a little part of me hold my breath and gets a teeny tiny butterfly inside my stomach.
As I tap the icon, I think, “what will I cook him for dinner? What kind of beer should I pick up to impress him? Is he going to laugh at my ability to always screw up making a fire?”
The time between opening the app and the terrible Internet connection actually refreshing the feed seems like 100 minutes instead of just one.
“Michael liked your status”
Butterflies drop dead in my stomach and sink to the bottom. I swallow really hard to wash down the stupidity and embarrassment that is sitting in my throat.
It’s the same torturous scenario that has been playing out for the past three weeks since I told Beer Guy that’s when I would be home again, and invited him over for dinner and to hang out by the fire pit if he didn’t have his son.
It’s three days away, and each time I think when I open the app there will be a different result than the previous time, but deep down where all those butterflies have gone to die, I know that’s not going to be the case.
I keep hope that there will be a message from him saying that he will take me up on my offer, and ask what time he should come over.
This is all I want to say to him, which even after seven shots of tequila the other night, I knew was a stupid move and didn’t do it:
Making out on the beach with Jeremy was a one-time thing. I normally don’t do that. You’re worried about my lifestyle because of work, but you haven’t taken the time to know what my lifestyle really is. You just go by what you see on Facebook.
I’ve been traveling for the past two weeks and I haven’t kissed one guy since that night on the beach three weeks ago. That was the exception, not the norm.
You and I both are attracted to each other. You and I both have similar interests. You and I could potentially be good together.
But, you won’t take the time to get to know the real me, not the girl who you think you see on Facebook.
Grow the eff up, put your insecurities to the side and give us an effing chance.