An Open Letter To Girls Who Ignore My Texts For Hours On End

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For the most part, cultural norms are well intentioned and serve a practical purpose. In order to maintain a clean society, we frown upon litterbugs. To promote tolerance of the mentally ill, Kanye is allowed to appear on Jimmy Kimmel Live!. However, there are those customs that are so detrimental and counterproductive to our betterment that we should criminalize them by punishment of forced sterilization.

I’m referring to, of course, ignoring my text message, ladies.

I simply do not understand why you have chosen to let my SMS marinate, stewing in the putrid juices of time until my anxiety swells to a fever pitch and then, only then, am I allowed a brief gasp of oxygen when you text back “idk uu?”

We’re not fifteen. No need for the games. It doesn’t make you more desirable, or elusive. It makes you a fucking dick. This would never work in the real word. If you stared at me blankly for 43 minutes after I asked you “What’s goody?” You’d be labeled a psychopath. And that label would be printed on high quality cardboard stock with special polyvinyl acetate adhesive.

The motives behind text ignoring/marination are almost as unreasonable as the practice itself:

“I was busy.” Nope, no you weren’t. Sorry, it’s 2013 and you just Instagrammed a picture of a cheese sandwich. You check your every 20-30 seconds because you’re a 23-year-old American girl who breathes oxygen. I’ve met a few, I know how it works. Remember that Lady Gaga song about how she’s so pissed because some guy keeps texting when all she wants to do is dance around the club in a terrible outfit? Never happens. I’ve been out before, sweet juice. It’s 300 people standing around checking their phones. I didn’t text you while you’re in the midst of a b-boy breakdance battle, I know this.

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So promptly text back “I do not want to have sex with you”. Problem solved. It’s far more offensive to deny somebody’s existence as a human being. Trust me, five girls who are reading this article, he won’t care. In fact, he doesn’t actually care about what you’re doing tonight in the first place. He wants to fuck. So either proceed or don’t. It’s your choice. But dragging out the excruciating ritual that is courtship is sadistic to all parties involved.

Am I being neurotic? A little. Listen, I get it if you’re sleeping or at the gym or work in an office where they treat you like 5-year-olds and aren’t allowed to text. But I still assert that message avoidance is a ridiculous practice.  That goes for the my role as the responder also. Wait, I look desperate and overeager because my phone WAS FLASHING LIGHTS AND BUZZING AND I ACKNOWLEDGED IT??? I am thankful for my relationship for many reasons, but obviously the most important is the prompt text responses. No punches pulled, no decks stacked, no cliché metaphors. Just open communication. It’s lovely.

Fuck it, the same rules apply to texting my friends also.  And If I ask you to get Chipotle or see Gravity later, don’t ever respond to me with “I could be down”. WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! The fact that I’ve heard that reply from more than one person in my life makes me want beat myself with my own cracked iPhone. That’s the most non-committal response ever. “I could possibly consider thinking about that proposition at a later date, maybe”. I’m not asking you to go halfsies on fledgling smoothie business, bro, it’s yes or no.

Okay I’m spent. Feel me on this one or be a scumbag psychopath. What do you guys think? Am I right? Did I just put an immense amount of pressure on anyone who receives a text from me? Should I not be legally allowed to own a cell phone? Are you down to go halfsies on a sick frozen dessert-related business proposition with me? Leave your thoughts in the comments section!! Thought Catalog Logo Mark


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