This weekend was a roller coaster of emotions, highs and lows and vodka and shitty men.
I had an incredible weekend of mommy-ing, one of the best. We loved on each other, laughed a ton, cuddled, played in the pool, I rooted and cheered at a swim meet, we saw a movie. It was fucking great. Just what a summer weekend should be.
With school out, Sunday swaps make more sense, so this weekend was my first Sunday free. Peter and I made plans for him to come over – he’d cut out of a poker game early, he said, and would be at my place around 7 or 8.
Meanwhile, Saturday night I’d gone out with friends and had vodka, which I never do. At 2:30 am I drunk texted The Golfer whom I still hadn’t heard from – that liquor sure did a number on my resolve to not text him. Fuck. And it’s almost worse than drunk dialing of the ’90s because the worlds stay foreverrr, but I digress.
I texted asking if he were mad at me because I hadn’t heard from him knowing full well he wasn’t, but I thought it was a good enough ice breaker. And then I asked him how he managed to not drunk text me. I thought I was so cute! But I guess it worked because he texted me Sunday morning.
Of course he wasn’t mad at me, he texted. Then, “Come over and squirt all over me…”
I had plans with Peter so demured. Also, I wasn’t crazy about being ignored for 3 weeks then invited to bring my pussy over to play. I decided to tell him his silence was confusing and that I’d like to continue our affair, but wasn’t sure he wanted to. His response was to simply reiterate his invitation. But, Peter…
I suggested this coming weekend instead, but he said he couldn’t due to “some shit going on.” I was disappointed – both in the scheduling conflict and myself over all. I shouldn’t be entertaining this, right??
I decided to focus on Peter’s visit instead. We’d texted a little Saturday, but I hadn’t heard from him yet. I texted and… nothing. But I didn’t fret. It was Peter, after all. I trusted him to keep our plans.
But 7 and then 8 o’clock came and went and no Peter.
Concurrent to all of this, a friend of mine asked if we could go swimming together yesterday – code for using my pool. I told her I had plans to swim after a 1:30 movie. At 3:36 I texted her letting her know we were headed to swim, but she’d found another pool and said she “wasn’t sure when we’d be done.” Peyton was disappointed and confused, my friend’s kid is a bestie. “I thought it was us she wanted to hang out with.”
“No, baby, she just wanted the pool, I guess.” Nice, thanks, Amy.
I texted Peter this morning:
WTF Peter 😔 You completely flaking on me last night really hurts my feelings. That was so disrespectful and not at all what I expected from you – which is why I told someone else I wasn’t available to see him. I figured you would keep your word even though I hadn’t heard from you. Seriously, what happened?? If you don’t want to see me, just say so, but don’t fuck with me like that, please. My time is far too precious and you know that 😢☹️
I’m pretty fucking pissed right now, but I don’t hate you. Please text me back so we can work something out. I’m thinking we need to put this on the back burner or maybe say goodbye for a little while. Both make me sad, but getting stood up is worse and not good for me and I’m not going to put up with it from a man I like and trust.
He just wrote back.
Apparently he got his work truck towed with both his phones in it – though that doesn’t make sense because he said he would be too tired to come over Saturday night after work, so not sure where his truck was that it’d get towed seeing as he should have been at home. He apologized and asked if he could see me for a quick minute to talk in person.
I didn’t post yesterday. I thought about it, but just couldn’t bring myself to put words to paper. I was humiliated and hurt and embarrassed.
And then this morning I texted The Golfer a video of me and my breasts on my balcony and, long story short, I’m headed to his place tonight after work.