A moment? Is that what we’re going to call it?
Just trying to paint a picture.
Mission accomplished.
Why are you responding then?
Entertainment value. And you have decent punctuation.
I could be catfishing you right now.
Please. Even if you’re a middle-aged man named Carl who collects porcelain dolls, I’ll take my chances.
Jokes on you. Carl’s doll collection is world-renowned.
Can Carl spell world-renowned?
Probably not.
I don’t know why I’m still texting. Maybe because so far, it’s fun. Or because the silence tonight is too heavy.
So, tell me about you.
I’m guessing this is your smooth segue into: are you male or female?
Busted.
Soooo…
Does it matter?
Not really. Just curious.
Fair.
Female?
Correct.
And now let me guess… you’re going to jack off later while rereading our entire thread?
Only if you promise to narrate it like an audiobook.
I’m not opposed. But I also am.
To answer your question, I’m selectively social, emotionally elusive, and still baffled by fitted sheets. Basically, I’m a human starter pack of red flags—but I do recycle.
Recycling’s hot.
Also, fitted sheets are a trap. Sent from Satan.
Got any skeletons in your closet I should know about before continuing this absurdly odd conversation?
Only if you count the shoes I refuse to throw out. You?
Oh, I’ve got skeletons. But they’re color-coded and alphabetized.
Psychotic. And yet, still not impressive.
