Instant Messy-ing…

Available. Online. Awake. Had a bagel for breakfast. Last seen at 11:32am, crossing High Level Road, Sea Point.

So I recently downloaded WhatsApp so I could be in touch with my besties in China and Australia.

Only thing is, your whole bloody phonebook has it. And you have to see their stupid bloody statuses.

(By the way, confronting that your 80 year old landlord has it, huh??)

So I made the fatal error of messaging a guy I met one night out, a bearded savage of a creature (well, not really, he seemed quite docile). We only spoke for an hour or so, we exchanged numbers but never spoke, besides the exchanged greeting when we saw each other a month later at the market.

Eeeeeeeeek. In a moment of madness, I messaged him. SO WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING, RIGHT??????

Luckily it was a “Hi! *smiley face*” and not “Oh my God I’ve missssssssssed you soooooo much”. But still. His reply an hour or so later was “Hi Candice”. No smiley face. No “Hi!!!!!!”. Full name, wtf. No-one calls me by my full name dammit.

Whoopsie daisy. Cringe.

Needless to say I didn’t respond, and did the most sensible thing. Deleted him. I mean really. It had to be done.

So I got to thinking about it. What’s instant messaging all about then? It’s quite rude, self-indulgent and spoilt brattish. READ ME!! READ ME NOW!! I WILL BEEP LOUDLY EVERY 2 SECONDS AND ANNOUNCE MY PRESENCE!!! That’s why it really only should be for close friends, friends you love and care about enough to be able to say, HEY MOFO SHUT THE F UP I’M AT WORK. It pains me terribly to have to respond politely to an instant messager contact who is clearly ignoring my carefully constructed “Busy at work” status with a HI, I’M BUSY CHAT LATER XOXOXOXOXO

So my new criteria with instant messaging contacts is simple. We have to be family, or close friends enough to share a loo cubicle.

Yes. It’s that simple. There are very few acquaintances a normal sane human  would share a loo cubicle with. Hearing a friend pee is just par for the friendship course. An acquaintance; a colleague… that sales assistant at your favourite shoe store… no thanks.

So no romantic interests, not ever.

I’m going to be polite and mannerly and send a sophisticated Facebook email instead. Ha!

Pity they can’t smell the perfumed ink and see the red lipstick smooch on the envelope though.

 

 

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