SMX

So there's a guy. Well, let's capitalize him - A Guy, because it's not really the specific dude who matters, but rather the idea of him. A Guy changes in identity every once in a while, depending on circumstances (usually involving copious amounts of alcohol) and coincidence -- the planets align themselves in such a manner (a manner of alcohol!) and events run a predestined course which ends in the bedroom. Or maybe in the public bathroom... *shifty eyes*. Whatever floats your boat.

Now, the dilemma is of course the determiner, because if we were speaking of The Guy, everything would be different (except the alcohol - that's a constant.). A Guy is much more fluid and changing, and has a whole different set of "rules" to him, which are hard to keep track of. In this case, A Guy walks into a bar one late night, and perhaps this is the second such night, and invites you back to his love nest. Things progress in the expected manner, and much fun is had, weehee!

Fast forward a few days and boredom, insomnia, horniness, tingly bones, excitement etc all coalesce in the form of a deep insistent desire to send a text message. An sms, or rather an smX (Gettit? See what I did there? With the X???) which wouldn't necessarily be a booty call per se, but rather some form of primitive flirting, and attention grabbing. The smx would of course be pondered over and thought through, and would emerge perfectly formed from the thigh of Zeus - "So..... Sup? *insert eyebrow waggle here*"

Then what? Ah! That is the question of course. You never can tell what the smx will bring, but in most cases it won't be exactly what you want and need at that late hour of the night and then you're left with a slight bitter taste in your mouth. "Well, wasn't that a waste of time and energy. Meh." Because of course you need him to answer all the bazillion layers of subtext you put into that text, and really - there aren't many that can drop into your subconscious like that and dig you right away. And if they could - well, then perhaps there would be a question of determiner once again.

So instead of writing to A Guy, I write to You, oh non-existent-yet-perhaps-future-reader. Whaddaya say? Wanna take a bath?