Conventional wisdom says that we should be weary of internet strangers. The world wide web is a dangerous place, after all. And while I would liken a girl hitting me up via Direct Message on Twitter to an introduction on Bumble, I was still a little nervous about the whole thing. Something about it made me feel like I had a chance, albeit a very small one, of getting robbed or murdered. You just never know.
It was probably around April when I made first contact with this girl. She had, for lack of a better term, slid into my DMsx asking me when I would be moving to Austin and if I’d be up for a drink when I had settled in. After a careful scrutinization of her Instagram, and making sure her Twitter feed was at least attempting to be clever, I decided to respond. Fast forward to last weekend, where, as I told you I stayed cooped up in my apartment all weekend save for a trip to the movie theater.
At 7:30 a.m. last Friday morning, “Rachel” let me know she’d be taking a Megabus on Sunday from Dallas (where she was spending the summer with her parents) to Austin to visit some friends. At the time, this gave me no cause for concern. I figured maybe she was in between jobs and let her know that I’d be around all day Sunday if she wanted to get together. I really thought nothing of it. To be honest, I figured my chances of this girl actually hitting me up Sunday were slim to none. I forgot about it by mid-afternoon on Friday in the office and I went about the rest of my night without giving it a second thought. Sugar plums and fairies danced in my head as I fell asleep right around 1:00 a.m. Saturday morning, two glasses of Pinot Grigio deep and a fan blowing cool air all over my room. All was right in the world.
Saturday? Well, Saturday was a lot more of the same. By noon, I found myself alternating between the couch in my living room and my bed. It was one of those Saturdays where candles with crackling wicks get lit. A cup of tea, Miles Davis on Spotify, and rain lightly hitting your bedroom window is a magical scene. My Saturday afternoon was quickly devolving into nothing more than a straight lounge session. I wasn’t mad about it by any means, but when a friend asked me if I’d be up for a movie, I accepted just to get out of the house for a few hours. The rest of the night was incredibly uneventful, and still no word from Rachel by the time I once again fell asleep with Netflix still running around 1:00 a.m.
I awoke to a text at 7:30 from Rachel.
Should I still come? Bus is leaving in a half hour
I didn’t answer. A text message on Sunday at 7:30 a.m.? Are you fist fucking me? Unless someone died I don’t want to be texting anyone that early on a Sunday. So I fell back asleep without responding. Forty minutes later I got another text.
aight i’m coming
With a groan, I threw my covers off of me. I looked at the text one more time, set my phone on the bedside table and got in the shower. No response. My plan? Blow this girl off. I was in no mood to be hosting. It was still raining outside, I had three loads of laundry to do and after I got out of the shower all I really felt like doing was vegging out in front of my television with a cup of coffee and Matt Kuchar.
Read receipts are a fickle bitch. I leave people on “read” all the time, but truth be told, by 10:00 a.m. I was beginning to feel bad. I still didn’t want to hang out with Rachel, but she was taking a goddamn bus like four hours to Austin. The least I could do is text her back and let her know I wouldn’t be available today. So I did. But I lied. When I typed the message out, I thought it would be a good idea to tell her I was partying in San Marcos the night prior and wouldn’t be back until later on in the afternoon. Why San Marcos? I have no idea. Lies come to me from out of thin air, what can I say? So she bought it, of course, because Rachel doesn’t know that I toe the line between good person and unabashed shithead.
totally fine! just let me know when you’re back I’m not getting in until noon
Fine, whatever, I thought. That would be the end of it. The day progressed without any more text messages from Rachel. I made a late lunch around 4:00 p.m., put my freshly laundered sheets onto my bed and finished up some cleaning that I had been meaning to do. 8:00 p.m. rolls around. Time for “The Night Of”. I’m about halfway through the show when this happens:
The text message before the first one was from her, and it read “hey what are you up to.” For purposes of anonymity, I had to crop it out. Anyways, as you can see, I caved. I gave Rachel my address and she showed up at my front door twenty minutes later. Upon arrival, I looked through my peephole, searching for her accomplice who would rob me of all of my material possessions. He wasn’t there. Just a very skinny, incredibly shapely 19-year-old girl sophomore who, I would learn just a few minutes later, was in Dallas for the summer because she was on vacation. 19-years-old. Look. I’m not a saint, okay? Hooking up with a 19-year-olds isn’t something I actively try to do. But this quite literally fell into my lap. What was I supposed to do as we exchanged awkward small talk in my kitchen? Not ask her if she wanted to see my bedroom?
Ten minutes of small talk and we had our clothes off. A naked 19-year-old with a body of a fucking goddess. I swam in there for a little more than eight minutes (a pretty solid amount of time considering I was sober) and then rolled over.
“Sorry for forcing this, but I haven’t gotten laid in like two months.”
“No, no. Thank you for forcing this. You can stay the night if you want, but I’m probably a half hour away from falling asleep.”
“Na, that’s okay. I’m gonna go get gelato with my friend. Thanks for having me.”
“No problem. If you’re ever back in Austin we should do this again. Maybe get a meal of food.”
“Sure, I’d like that,” she said as she slung her purse over her shoulder.
The time on my alarm clock read 11:00 p.m. By 11:15, I was alone in my bed fast asleep. A great ending to a relaxing weekend. .