An Open Letter to Bad Texters [Diary of the Undateable]
I like you. You like me. There’s spark. And there’s potential…so much potential. I’m glad that you asked for my number, and I’m sure you’re glad that I gave mine to you. When we met, we talked for such a long time…I couldn’t get you to shut up! You were so interesting, so funny…so fine. Sigh. I had a Vera Wang tab open in Safari as soon as we said goodbye. I couldn’t wait ‘til you hit me up because I just KNEW that your text was on fire. And our initial textual exchanges were just like when we met…the conversation was flowing and the emojis were going. It was perfect. But you changed. You’re different. And I just don’t like it.
At first, it took no time for you to hit me back…then your replies were minutes apart. Then hours. Then days. I understand if you’re busy in class or at work or whatever…but it’s weird because whenever I see you, your phone is always in your hand. And you don’t go an hour without Tweeting or checking your timeline. So you can retweet but you can’t respond to me? Cool.
And what’s up with the one-word responses? You’re a well-read, well-educated, well-spoken young man. You can obviously read and write. So can you please, please, PLEASE respond with more than a “yeah,” “ha” and “tru”? K. Lol. Thx.
Don’t even get me started on you and your mass text motives. Yeah, the good morning texts were sweet…before I saw that you send them to MULTIPLE people. You might as well just make a GroupMe! How ‘bout checking the “to” field before hitting send, buddy? Because obvi my name’s not Kayla, Keisha or Kelly. Douchebag.
Oh, and another thing. PLEASE don’t tell me that you’re bored when I ask you what’s up. That’s just rude. Is texting me your only option when you have nothing else to do? How ‘bout not texting me at all?
Hey stranger. So since I’m cute on Instagram you wanna hit me up? Thought you forgot about me with your trifling ass. I miss you. No. You miss the attention. You miss me being thirsty for your dry conversation and unwarranted selfies. I see right through the trickery and 20pt font.
The art of conversation is diminishing, and you kill it even more with your little games. Just do better, boo. Respond in a timely manner. Use your words. At least pretend to be interested in my day and/or me. And if you’re not, say so. We’re grown. And hey, maybe pick up the phone and call once in a while? Promise I won’t send you to voicemail.
When she’s not watching for Blue Ivy sightings or doing some serious Facebook creeping, Khalea moonlights as a print journalism major at the REAL HU, Howard University. Follow her on Twitter at @letsbeKHAlear, or feel free to Twatch. Whatever works for you.