It is my goal to spend as much of my 20s as possible well travelled, well paid and well laid.
It is the pursuit of that last bullet point that makes me roll my eyes.
I am texting my QQ simultaneously while texting the Jump Off, relaying his shenanigans and synchronizing my eye rolls with hers. I'll spare you the details but here is what I've learned from JO:
You know how every men's magazine would have you believe that all men LOVE the FWB situation?
Don't believe the hype.
Every man LOVES to hear you say you don't want a relationship... That is until they realize that you ACTUALLY MEAN IT.
Because, I mean, he's single, childless, attractive, and with a job. He's a fucking stellar candidate. His bullet points are spectacular. I'm a WOMAN. I MUST fall for the charm and try to manipulate him into a relationship, yes?
I have a choice here. I know how to get what I want. I could make this easy on myself. I could do and say the things I'm expected to say, pretend to be the person I'm not to fit more comfortably in this situation. I could get what I want. And he could think he was getting what he wanted, his ego sufficiently stroked. I could be That Girl if I so chose.
But that's just not me.
Even if what I choose isn't always fun or without the lonely side effects...
It's still my choice.
Instead I do what I always do; I roll my eyes at the predictable phone call that follows the text I ignored. I shake my head at the fact that he doesn't realize he's the only person jockeying for position or power; my power isn't anyone's to take. I climb my short ass up in my sleigh bed. I wiggle around in the covers until I find a spot that suits me. I proceed to fling my appendages outward, limbs akimbo like the old school Cingulair ads.
I am a girl who chooses to sleep in the middle.