Please press play (Note: Basically every vowel sung in this song has been changed to the letter “A”):
Boo·ty call (noun): ˈbü-tēˈkȯl – A clandestine or casual meeting to indulge sexual urges, devoid of any meaningful social engagement. Typically occurring between the hours of 12-4am, subsequent to one party becoming inebriated or failing to secure relations with a more appealing partner(s).
Listen, I had an entire post written and ready for post. It was witty, it had so many quotables, it would’ve hit you deep in your core. Even though I repeatedly save it, it disappeared like the men in my life. And also like the relationships of my past, it could not be recovered. SIGH! I wasn’t feeling this post anyway, for obvious reasons, and I’m damn well not going to write it again. So here is the Cliff Notes version of all you need to know:
- 1st date = chemistry like whoa (yes!)
- 2nd date= he makes me breakfast with several strips of bacon (dreamweaver!)
- 3rd date = immediately platonic (wha???)
- 4th date = never happens, my calls/messages are ignored
- All communication to make “plans” from here on out are received from a drunken him after the midnight hour
I hate booty calls. I always have. I tried to convince myself that I could adjust to this casual way of going about life and I can’t. So to all you ladies and gents who live and die by the call de booty, more power to you. To everyone else, stop showing up at my home. Stop texting me at 2am. Your late-calling P is not worthy of my bed-rested V.
What I wrote before was really good, guys. I think you really would’ve loved it. I’m devastated I have to leave you with this lacklusterness. But I’m angry I had to turn peen away and I’m angry that peen doesn’t want me in the daytime too. I’M ASKING FOR TOO MUCH IN THIS LIFE! Anyway, I’ll make up for it, I promise. This doesn’t even deserve a blink.