Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Idiot, Sleazy Character: Alexander

Alexander works a funky schedule. He misses hockey sometimes. Thankfully, in the month since we, um, yeah, made a mistake, he’s missed hockey a lot.

And called me even less. Wheee! Had I cared, I would have been completely devastated! Hurray!

But I didn’t care, so his absence has been appreciated. He came and ran a practice for us a couple of weeks ago and, I kid you not, all I could do is stand there and think “OMG, we crushed it. I am the biggest fool ever,” for an entire hour.

We had a game on Sunday and the team went to eat after the game. I was sneaking out of the locker room when, of all people, Alexander’s mom was like “you’re coming to breakfast, right?”

“Ah, no. I think I’m just going to head home.”

“Why? Come with us! What’s your excuse?”

All I could do was stand in the middle of the room with my mouth hanging open. Speechless. I had perfectly good reasons to skip the team meal – I had already had two breakfasts, for example – and I just stood there.

And then I went to breakfast.

I walk into the restaurant – wearing a pair of running capris that put my backside on full display – and I hear “that is one FINE ass.” Alexander’s mom. I turn around. She’s laughing. He’s grinning like a bloody fool.

You see, I wore running capris to a game a couple of weeks ago and it apparently drew some attention. Now all my teammates can do is tease me about my fine booty. And refer to my pants as “booty capris.” And insist that I wear them to games because we played really well the day that I first broke out my capris.

Mom and Son laugh their way right into the restaurant, where f’ing Alexander slid into the booth beside me. Purposely squeezing in too far, so that his ass is practically on top of me. “Move over, Wifey,” he said. That’s what he called me throughout our epic Canadian weekend. Wifey. (We had joked about telling border patrol that we were married.)

We sat at a booth across from his mom and her best friend. And still. Damn. He is infuriating. I didn’t even want to look at him.

And he wanted to grab my leg.

And apologize for not running the St. Patrick’s Day race that we discussed running together like I showed up and was disappointed that he wasn’t there. (Me: “Um, I didn’t run it.” Him: “Ouch.”) Ouch? What about that hurt you? You didn’t show up to run, either. You didn't bother telling me that you weren't showing up to run, either.

And wonder why I wrote a haiku for everyone on the team but not for him.

He’s an idiot.

And he obviously sent me a text message as soon as he got home.

And at 1:00 am. A haiku. About my capris.

And at 11:00 on Monday morning. Another haiku. He thinks he’s clever.

I should just ignore him completely but I do not. I keep it friendly and harmless – mostly because I feel like being a huge bitch to him means that he wins and means that I care. I swear that I don’t. I don’t care.

On St. Patrick’s Day, he was tagged in a picture on Facebook with some girl. Some girl who he’s Facebook official with. Who he was Facebook official with before (but not long before, which makes it even creepier) anything ever happened between the two of us. I saw that picture. I saw their status. I thought he looked chubby. And I didn’t care.

He’s a sleazy character. One night was one night too many but thankfully it was only one night.

1 comments:

Teagan B. Sawyer said...

I hate it when boys act like this! So annoying. And I think it's pretty hilarious that he wrote you a haiku...at 1am (hmmm what's the last thing he's thinking about before bed...totally your "capris"). And what a creep he is ...hehe and I loved that he looked chubby. You and your booty are way to good for this dude.

 
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