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Blair texts me “Happy Thanksgiving… -Blair” while I’m sitting down with my second plate of food on the day. I’m half in the bag after two scotches and I’m mildly annoyed that she did this right in the middle of dinner. The text on Thanksgiving/Christmas – an absolutely classic tactic used by exes the world over to try and wriggle their way back into the arms of a former flame.
And who texts like that? The “… -Blair” at the end of her message left me dumbfounded. I actually put my fork down when I looked at my phone and showed my cousin who was sitting next to me what I had just been sent. It felt strange getting a text like that from Blair. Ominous even. But then I remembered who was texting me.
I don’t like to pigeonhole anyone by the name that is given to them by their parents, but when your name is Blair you’re destined to be a little bit more alternative than your peers.
When you’re talking to a girl with a name like Blair (other names that come to mind are Phoebe, Darcy, and Sloane) you know they’re a little bit different than your run of the mill Megan’s, Samantha’s, and Alexis’s of the world. They’re still basic and all but they’ve got a little edge to them as well.
Blair smokes cigarettes and will drink just about anything as long as it has alcohol in it. She listened to Tame Impala before they were cool and she wears Doc Martens with an all leather outfit and thinks nothing of it. She likes noise shows and unlike me, will actually speak up at a restaurant and let the waiter know that something is wrong with her order.
She’s not afraid of stuff, so on the surface, while a text message that reads “Happy Thanksgiving…-Blair” reminds me of something my dad would send me, if I think about it for a moment I start to get it because we’ve talked about the way that dad’s text before. They don’t have proper texting etiquette. They don’t understand that people know who is texting them and that signing off with their name is totally and completely unnecessary.
A smile runs away from my face when I come to this realization, and I agonize over what to text back while I eat mashed potatoes and talk to my cousin about the decline of quality programming on HBO as of late. By the time I finish eating an hour has elapsed since Blair has texted me and I’ve had two more scotches.
“Happy t-day. In Chicago this weekend?” is what I land on for a reply. All things considered, not the worst text I could have sent. Blair texts me back almost immediately and tells me that she is, in fact, in Chicago this weekend. We text a little bit more but don’t make concrete plans to meet up and I go to bed happy that she’s reached out to me despite the fact that reopening lines of communication is probably not a good idea.
I wake up on Friday ready to go back to Chicago and meet up with her, but instead I watch television with my dad on the couch all day and talk about how rent in Chicago is actually quite reasonable when you compare it to other cities of the same size.
I fight the urge to text Blair all day Friday, and by that night I can’t take it anymore. I ask her if she wants to come over for a drink on Saturday when I’m back and when she says yes a wave of relief washes over me. I go to sleep that Friday night happy and excited to get in the car the next morning to drive back..