“That’s great news, my baby!” he writes me today.
No, sir. I am nobody’s “baby.” I close the chat window. My online love has expired like a timed session in a musky library.
I am not the little girl back home anymore. A person like him who’ll probably never leave. Sounds snobby? Maybe. But what I’ve learned is that sometimes you have to push the boundaries, think outside the box.
Perhaps that’s the magic of guys of my nationality: Their charm is natural, and it leaves you breathless. But when you start to doubt their words are natural too, that’s where the lose.
Because, no, sirree, are you gonna stand me up on Sunday when we planned a time to chat, then leave me hanging for two days, and finally still have the guts to call me “your baby.” You, sir, are delusional. That’s all I have to say about that.
As part of a wonderful series of discoveries, a realization has fallen in my lap lately: I’m too good to waste my time on a not-so-great guy.
That’s it, simple as that. This guy’s not bad, and certainly we had some wonderful memories together, but hey, he’s not what I want. What I want is thoughtful, what I want is kind. Someone who’ll message you not just to tell you sorry but also just to say he’s thinking of you. That’s it.
So now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hang out with some French guys across town.
As for the good news, thank you. I have been promoted once again, twice now and I’m only 23! That’s an accomplishment — more proof that I can do way better when it comes to finding someone worthy of my time, my thoughts and sentiment.