• Dealing with outrage at anonymous use of flirting texts for creative inspiration.
So Simon is not the king of the jungle. More of a hyena. But even scavengers have egos. And ridicule from Mama Hyena will make Papa Hyena take on a pride of lions by himself. You just have to know how to push his buttons.
Alan, meanwhile, has still not responded to my message. I sincerely hope he’s ok.
I’m sitting in Java sipping my coffee and he walks in. The universe has a funny way of operating. I feel like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, pondering, “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”
I haven’t seen or spoken to him in ages. He stopped responding to my text messages and he doesn’t answer my calls. I wonder if he’ll say hello. Ghosting someone is avoidance that often stems from fear of conflict and here we are, about to come face to face.
Awkward. I get a text message. I pull my eyes away from Alan and read it. It’s from the sending-harambee-cards-to-a-girl-you-are-trying-to-get-with man himself, the goofball, Simon.
Him: Wishing you a good morning and joyous weekend.
WTH? I put down the phone without responding and look back up at Alan. He is staring right at me. He smiles and walks towards me.
“Hey, Samantha,” he says and pecks me on the cheek.
“Hi,” I respond, not sure how to react.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Great! Busy,” I add. “You?”
“I’m good,” he says.
Someone waves at him from another table.
“I’m meeting him,” he says, waving back.
I don’t want to appear needy, but I need to know what’s going on with this guy.
“You’ve been ghosting me,” I blurt out.
“Yes, I have,” he responds.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I’m not really sure if you want me or if you’re looking for something to write about,” he says.
“What?” I ask confused.
“I read your feature story. You basically laid out all my text messages for the world to see,” he says.
Oh, that. I didn’t even realise he read my magazine. We did a feature on sexting and I used our exchanges as an example to our readers of flirty text messages.
“It’s not like anyone knows who you are,” I respond with a nervous laugh.
“It’s not cool,” he says. “I felt exposed for all the world to see!”
The irony. If you send a guy nude or sexy pictures they will show all their friends. When he sends you some texts and you share them with the world — that has no idea who he is — he catches feelings. Wakanda sh*t is that?
“You have to draw inspiration from somewhere,” I say, shrugging. “I didn’t use your name, I don’t see what the issue is.”
“The issue is lack of trust,” he says.
“Would you show my booty to your friends?” I ask.
“You never send me pictures of your booty,” he responds.
“Because you would show it to your friends,” I say with a laugh. “The moral is don’t send anything to anyone that you are not comfortable with other people seeing.”
“I have to go,” he says, looking over at his friend. “We will discuss more about this later.”
He kisses me again on the cheek and goes to join his friend. I stare at him for a little bit, trying to work out how I feel about seeing him and my phone buzzes again. It’s the hyena again, Simon.