passing notes isn't always wholesome.
Mondays are fucked up. Just a general rule. But each individual Monday has its own special flavor of *~*dark and wrong*~*, that is specific to the disturbing events of the weekend that preceded it.
So, to start, last night I was casually enjoying a very lovely snow pea burrata and glass of rosé in the company of my favorite person: myself.
When that rare moment of peaceful solitude was... intruded upon.
Anyway, a guy walks over to me with a little note in his hand, that he continues to pass into my possession. I had no idea what was going on, but notes are cute. They remind me of one of my favorite ways to ignore the “school” part of high school. And giving someone your number on a piece of paper is obviously very 90s, but I’m always down for a wholesome tbt, you know?
Anyway, then the note took a plot twist.
It said, verbatim, I kid you not:
“Do you want to hook up with me tonight?”
With little Yes/No boxes to check!
I was so taken aback that I didn’t even have the time to react normally, and I just said, “No thank you, but happy to sit and chat if you want!” You know, it’s important to be polite. Apparently. But I’m starting to feel like a lot of the societal rules that we’re taught in our younger years seem to be a bit of bs.
He said ok and then left. No time for chatting unless I’ve already formally committed to having sex in writing, I suppose!
And since I love to gossip, I told one of the waiters, who informed me that I shouldn’t be offended because it was “direct communication.”
Anyway, that’s apparently a new tactic of men in new york city. I feel like I’m obligated to properly warn everyone, as I was very much thrown off guard, and it would have been nice to have been prepared. Ideally. I also kind of got the whole having sex with strangers thing out of my system when I was 17.
happy fucking monday morning,