It’s Getting Hot in Here

1 Jul

I have a habit of repeating former flings due to some misconstrued (and widely accepted) logic that: if it has happened before, it doesn’t count. After a passionate summer romance consisting of drunken nights and fucking, we rekindled 3 years later for an actual date.

I had false hopes of falling in love. I recalled being smitten by his confident charm and had long fantasized about how we were meant to be. 30 minutes into an outrageously expensive dinner, I remembered all of the annoying things about this guy: obsessed with image, his trust fund (and disdain for all who lacked one), frequent third person references, and love of rhetorical questions.

6 dirty martinis later,  I was toast. And he was looking more appealing.

Back at his apartment, he opens the door, claps his hands and (I SWEAR TO GOD), “It’s Getting Hot in Here” starts blasting. After I stop laughing and ask him politely to turn off his attempt at sex jams, we do it.

Next morning, he realizes I left a small mark on his neck.  He starts freaking out. I reassure him honestly that you can barely see it (and am trying to get out of there as quickly as possible). He picks up my clutch and asks if I have make-up.

He spends the next 15 minutes very confidently and liberally applying my $45 Chanel concealer. I tell him I’m leaving and want my make-up back. He insists (in the third person) on keeping it.

I haven’t returned his calls.

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