Bad News Bears

I have the worst news. Really, really bad news.

It turns out that I'm a complete idiot. And I'm probably not going to do anything about it. I'll probably just wallow in my idiocracy like a supple sow in the soft, moist earth.

So, here goes: RHMFT claims that he really wants to be my friend because I'm just so, so cool and he doesn't want to lose my friendship, even though he made me an adultress and he feels really, really bad about it all, blah, blah, blah.

Now, dear, dear readers, please do not think for one iota of a minute that I'm buying ANY of this! He's a liar. He's not a consistent liar, however, and at times that really does throw me off his trail. See, sometimes he tells the absolute truth, and that puts a little bug of doubt in my mind about his scroundrelism. HOWEVER, I'm smart enought to know that even if every once and a while he tells the truth, he's overall a liar. But he is really, really, really hot and pretty people are hard to refuse. I should know.

Anywho, I'm weak, very weak. And I like to be around charming people. You know, people like me. Also, I enjoy being around hot men. It's a thing - like a weakness for chocolate...(no pun intended, Forky!)

Thus, yesterday:
RHMFT had surgery Friday and I hadn't heard from him. I thought, "Well, hell. He has a wife! Why does he need me to pretend like I care?" So, I didn't call him to see how the surgery went. And actually, I was thinking during this time of RHMFT abstinece that it would be wise to just let the whole thing fizzle. Very wise, indeed. I actually thought that! Really. Even though he had just had major surgery on his shoulder Friday and even though we're pretending to be "friends," I thought it would just be best to the the whole thing just sputter out. He has a wife to check on him, what does he need me for? (I know, you're impressed with my overwhelming wisdom and discernment, aren't you?)

Well, all that wisdom went to hell yesterday. He called me. I answered the phone. He went on and on and on about how EVERYONE he knew called him except for me and he thought that I was his friend and he couldn't believe I didn't even send him a TEXT message or anything like that and his feelings were really, really hurt.

Crap. Think fast, Queen.

I made up something about how I thought he'd still be really drugged and I was going to check on him later this week or I didn't want to disturb him or I was just leaving him alone to recover because some people really like to be left alone. I'm a liar - I guess RHMFT and I are just two peas in a pod - except that I'm not married.

Let me take a short break here: isn't it phenomenal that I'm even speaking to this man?! Seriously, what's wrong with me? Oh, wait....I know! I'm an idiot.

So, long, long story short. He showed up at my apartment without being invited and we had several bizarre conversations. RHMFT swears that he's not taking any of the pain medication they gave him, but judging from his cracked-out behavior, he's taking a prescription of co-co vicodin. Whitney swears by it. At first, RHMFT paced around, then he was hungry, then he looked like he was going to pass out, then he asked if he could lie down, then he asked for a blanket, then he asked for another blanket, then he evaded questions about his wife, then he gave me religious advice, then he got up and left. But not before giving me the kind of hug an unmarried man would give me and kissing me on the cheek.

*sigh* See? I told you. I'm a complete idiot.