One week after the last time I had heard from Richard and two days after I text him the following:
“It’s incredibly disappointing that you found it necessary to deny your having kids. That was never a deal breaker for me, Richard. Lying, however, is. I wish you the best, really, and I hope the next time you meet someone you genuinely like, you’ll reconsider being dishonest.”
I received the following response along with two missed calls from him, one of which came nine minutes after he said he’d “stop:”
I was sleeping. I never responded and I do not intend to. In case you were wondering, “missy” was something he frequently called me which kind of bothered me since one of my best friends calls me that but it never irked me enough to tell him he couldn’t use it, too. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell, “I did not tell you that” refers to, though – you didn’t tell me that you had kids? No shit, Sherlock! No doubt these early morning messages were most likely fueled by booze.
The most comical part is how his flight of overused punctuation seemingly came as if he had just received my above text. What the hell happened, Richard? Did you drop your phone in a fucking lake in the past week since the last time I’d heard from you? Oh wait! I know what happened! Your kids, you know the ones you don’t have, got a hold of your phone and they were using it as a chew toy or they were playing angry birds, right? Fuck. That.