Last year. Last month. Last week. Yesterday.
You get the idea.
Honey, you better believe that you aren’t the only one to see him naked and hear that weird ass sound he makes during sex. You know, the one where you aren’t quite sure if a sexily placed hand will do or you need to use a full-sized pillow. You aren’t the only one to hear ‘I love you’ and believe in the promise of forever. You know that cup of coffee you’re drinking right now? You better believe that my lips have been all over that cup. Amongst other things.
You get the idea.
I fucked your boyfriend. I wasn’t the first one and you won’t be the last. You know – probably – because I’m a cynic.
Dating is hard. It is exceptionally hard for us cynics or emotionally nope people. You join Tinder, you talk to a few people and find out that most of them are just fuckboys, get annoyed and then delete the app. You try Bumble. Forget to message people within twenty-four hours and lose all your matches. Revert back to Tinder and wade through all the assholes.
Once in a while, you find a boy.
You hang out. You get that gut wrenching ‘oh fuck’ feeling when you realise that you actually like this one.
The same ‘oh fuck’ feeling comes back when you realise that not only do you like him, but that he comes with a history. I’m not talking about children. I’m not talking about the old ass dog that barks when it farts. Hell, I’m not even talking about the cheese at the back of the fridge that he claims is ‘still good’ (when it definitely should have been thrown out weeks ago).
I’m talking about the ex-girlfriend. You know, the batshit crazy one who stalks you on every social media platform, constantly bombards him with abusive Snapchat messages, and believes she’s allowed to say who his friends are.
Because you like to torture yourself, you decide to have ‘just a quick look’ at her Instagram page. Before you know it, you’re one hundred weeks deep and holy hell, look at those boobs. They can’t be real, right?
She seems to be in the realm of hot and fucking crazy that just works.
Shit. Shitty shit shiiiiiit.
You show your friends and they have the same ‘shit’ thought. Great. Now you know that she’s a stone cold fox and you’re left feeling like a sack of potatoes. Not the gourmet kind. You know the 10kg bag of potatoes that still have dirt on them? Yep. Those. Foxy.
Guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurl. Let me tell you that you aren’t a sack of potatoes.
Recently, I’ve had a few friends tell me that dating sucks and ‘why would he want me when he can have her?’ and we all agree that swiping left or right is getting very, very old. Online dating and platforms like Instagram have made it much, much harder to be confident when trying to score a date. Everything is at your fingertips. I’ve heard of people bypassing the likes of Tinder and Bumble to pick up chicks straight off Instagram. I mean, I knew it happened, but now that I know it happens and that it works. Wow. It makes my slightly deflated boobs and I feel absolutely great.
I’ll tell you what I told all my friends: He’s not with ol’ crazy pants perky boobs for a reason.
Every guy has a past. Just like you have a past. Hell, this guy will probably be a part of your past at some point. (Or maybe not.) We all come with baggage and hang-ups and the occasional psycho ex who thinks you’re ‘on a break’…and that just shows that you’ve lived. Be happy.
You’ve spent time with other people. He has, too. Now you’re both choosing to spend time with each other. You know, when both of you could be with literally anyone else. You chose each other, and continue to choose each other. And that’s something that ol’ crazy pants perky boobs doesn’t have.
Stop overanalysing everything. Stop stalking ol’ perky boobs on Instagram. Stop doubting yourself. Stop comparing yourself. Just stop. Stop it right now.
And, girl, smile every time your lips touch that goddamn coffee cup because it’s yours now.