The holidays are over. At least almost over. You just have one more holiday to fake through, and this time you get to get drunk with people and make up lies about all the wonderful things you resolve to do in the next year, most of which you’ll break by Jan 7.
With the egg nog and tinsel also comes another holiday tradition. Texts from your ex’s. I cant imagine that I’m the only one who starts getting these random messages or emails. Historically they start about a week or so before Christmas really gets going. Usually the person in question starts realizing that their life is terribly lonely, and that all they will hear for the next family meals is “where is so and so?” and “ when are you getting married?” With them knowing that all of these uncomfortable situations are coming, they reach out to you in some wild hope of desperation that maybe you may have hit your head tragically and would suddenly decide to date them.
This year my gifts from St. Nick include two desperately drunk phone calls, one email, and one text. The drunk phone calls are the best. Especially the ones that start demanding that they want you to move half way across the country with them. Or the text that should start with “I’m sorry I’m a giant asshole” that’s translated into “hey babe.” Um. Not your babe. Not now not ever.
I suppose I cant hate on these guys too bad, as this desperate St. Nick theory must work for some of them because lord knows they try every year. Too bad for them I haven’t hit my head hard enough to think that this could be a good idea. Maybe next year fellas?