So the other day my friend and I are getting all decked and dolled for this really underground, really experimental, really hip party. I'm downplaying my excitement with a cropped t-shirt and black pants like I'm way too cool to try any harder. My hair is held to the side in a high and messy ponytail and I'm putting on lipstick while my iPhone's blasting
Keke Palmer, when a text from our mutual friend comes through.
Uh oh. Apparently, my friend's crazy-stalker-emotionally-unstable-compulsive-lying-weird-internet-persona-type-ex has invited himself to the said event according to Facebook. He might be there.
My friend and I exchange devastated looks. I roll my eyes and hers follow. I say, "this isn't even fair, he's not my crazy ex-boyfriend. Plus, he wasn't even hot to be worth any of this." She says nothing. I realize it's not her fault that he turned out to be evil and start to feel bad. "We can't live like this." But tissue to lipstick, hair back down, and pants off. I stick a toothbrush in my mouth and get ready for bed. By this time, it's nearly midnight. Too early to sleep but too late to reconsider. Ex-boyfriends need to be shipped to Pluto. Ugh.
