Although phonetics is REALLY is not my strong suit, this is a raw post of my collision of hypocrisy. The animal that came to mind upon reflecting on my most recent hypocritical action was hippos: Hungry Hungry Hippos. Little did you know, this adolescent pass time personifies the endless appetite of a single millennial for shreds of attention and figments of belonging. These colorful hinged hippos snatch more than little white balls in this plastic children's game. They snatch compliments, lust, reassurance, words of affirmation, opportunity, and hope. They're always hungry for more. Is any amount of plastic balls enough? Even though I disappeared from dating sites and "enjoyed being single," I was secretly obsessed with reassurance that I was "good enough." I grasped desperately for reinforcements in the form of words and little actions because it was what we valued-- my immediate support, aka best friend, and I. We thrived on male attention and relinquishing phone numbers through a crowd of smoke, holding a cold one. Once attention was received, more was craved, craved, necessary. Even when the best friend left my immediate surroundings, I was ingrained with the need for shallow embrace and chance at a lustful environment. This story is proof that it's not just guy-on-girl crime. I was a little bit of a hypocrite in this real world scenario. But not like the reality TV show, I'm not loud and boisterous and built like a Barbie with a boob job. Buckle up buttercup, you're about to get the juicy details and proof that even your protagonist has slanted intentions. This whole generation me and putting yourself first and living your best life may have been rubbing off on me... Or my give a damn's busted. Maybe a flirty combination of the two. Let's just say that this story is chronologically weeks after my most recent post, but I'm a lover of irony and other literary elements.This time, the boy was visiting me. This time I relinquished my digits instead of retrieving his. This time, I was being the inconsiderate, questionable person. As Mr Sprinkles made it to my house from over an hour away to spend time in a city he spent six years for school just to be with me, I was in a Mustang being showered with kisses from another man who's appeared on this blog (more than once). His identity isn't important. And, like a standard As Seen On TV commercial, but wait-- there's more. I arrived at my house by the hand of the sober mystery man just seconds before Mr. Sprinkles arrived. Trying to smile innocently, I hugged him and buried my guilty smirk into his shoulders. After mixing a couple drinks, he was again impressed by my confidence in the kitchen. He shot the whiskey concoction, along with my hesitation. The energy of the night was high, as were the stars. We made our way to Whiskey Bar where we encountered some of my only friends in town. This married couple from the north; yeah ...I admire them. I spend more time with them in this town than anyone my own age. They educated us on a couple mixed drinks that would launch our evening and we were off. I couldn't help but notice a mysterious blue eyed man in the corner. I continually felt his eyes on me. My green eyes and attention waved through the room. They landed back on Mr. Daddy Long Legs. He didn't quite resemble an insect, but my metaphor wasn't quite far-fetched. The outgoing person I am, pumped with liquid courage, blurted out "what's up?" Startled, he responded with slow conversation. His eyes started to wonder as we exchanged words and I followed them to a surprising destination. "Were you just looking at my legs?" Instantly, I could feel the blush encompassing his face even in the pitch-dark. "Well... " I leaned in. I don't think I've ever been so excited to hear an excuse in my life. He broke eye contact again and gave my legs in uptown as he formed the words, "you have the most beautiful legs I've ever seen. They are damn sexy." His blush must have been contagious, because I was covered. Not only had I never heard this one before, but I believed him. I I almost felt like I had to tell him my eyes were up here. His eyes went wild. The liquor buffered the situation and made it seem flattering. After exchanging a couple more flirty words, he made his advance. And I actually gave him my number. Hardly put up a fight because I was so taken aback from the compliments. I thrived in the attention. Guy number three tonight that thought I was absolutely stunning. It's not everyday you feel beautiful. Which I know, sounds like a line or an understatement. But sadly it's not. I know you're thinking damn Stephanie! Don't make this about you. What about the guy that had to pack a lunch to come visit you? Oh I'm sure he saw the whole thing. But did he make me feel bad about it once? Did he even bring it up? no. Which almost makes me feel shittier. I never apologized because I guess I didn't want to admit that I was wrong. But I'm saying it now, hypocrite. I wanted to knock the guys lights out from the last post for doing that to my best friend, and I probably took it a step further. It's important to be well versed on the Beast but be wary to not become it.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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