The Cake Story

If you ever run out of romantic things to say to your significant other, you can turn to me for help. My inbox is flooded with idyllic sweet nothings, so much so that I’m surprised it isn’t diabetic yet. Meet Cake, the honeyed perpetrator and the source behind my increasing repertoire of romantic bullshits.

Cake was the kind that would send you a message only to reply her own message with another message. If I left my phone untouched, she was well capable of writing a whole dialogue for a sitcom. I would then title it, “I think I’m an idiot in love”. It was like lyrical sycophancies and if I actually pieced together four of the messages together, I would have enough for a chorus that will put The Backstreet Boys to same.

She was like a walking Hallmark dictionary with an aptitude for putting across a message as simple as ‘I miss you” in a plethora of ways. It started out cheesy and I largely believed she might have been reading some ‘Your dad must be the thief who stole all the stars in the sky and put them in your eyes’ book and decided to surreptitiously pluck some lines out of it to let me know that, not only does she miss me, but she’s also creative and original.

Then it exacerbated into a soliloquy, where she would confess her interest in me and follow it up three minutes later with a question, only to answer that a couple minutes later by formulating her own theory. If you are planning to watch some Shakespearean play, you can save your money and I can introduce you to Hamlet right away.

This would go on for a couple of days till I eventually ignored it all together. And when you leave insanity unchecked, you’re only putting your life at risk. Every time we got down to meeting, she would besiege me with a thesaurus worthy of ‘I love you’ and I would peddle myself out with a consortium of equivocations on ‘No’, which usually starts with ‘I like your company’ and ends with her in tears.

She’d message me stuff like,

“Why I love you, I don’t know. Why you don’t love me? I know..”

And when I left that unchecked, the next message in would be,

“I know..”

Like, What the fuck, bitch?! If you’re going to kill me, just say it already!

Then there are the times she just truly amazes me with the sweet bullshit she manages to conjure and when I doubt the authenticity of it, she reminds me that, “the sweetest things come from the heart”. If you are diabetic, you’d better take a shot of insulin now, because if you collapse and die now, you will make a lot of ants in the toilet bowl very sad.

“My happiest time is sending you an SMS”

6 minutes later,

“But I’ll be happier to receive message from you..”

I replied, “ok” and she didn’t reply after that. I believe she might have collapsed from heighten happiness.

“My total happiness is to be thinking of you.”

I don’t remember if I replied to that, but I remember giggling alot.

Reznor had a go at her about how bad a taste in men she had by picking me and how I constantly surround myself with women and how she was a singular in my life of plurality.

Me: “You think you’re being funny? Wait till you see her start crying.”
Reznor: “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I sent her back after that and I woke up the next morning with the fucking phone buzzing incessantly near my ear.

“You see me cry, you happy?”

I nearly pissed my pants.

I always believe there is a limit as to how much adulation a person can accept before that threshold is breeched and any excessive professing thereafter is cast in doubt and eventually, ignored.

If you want to tell a person you miss them, say it after you are done talking. ‘I miss you’ is best used as a punctuation, not a conjunction. And you shut up after saying that, because as little as it seems, it’s effect takes time to set in. The moment you commence a force absorption on the other party with, ‘I keep thinking about you all day and night, you know?’, you will,

1. Qualify to be a stalker. Or at least have potential traits to be one. All you need now is to add ‘determined individual’ to your resume and you might turn out to be a successful stalker.

2. Get slapped with a restraining order.

Yes, you miss us. WE get it. We might not say it back because we don’t feel the same way, but we get it. Reality is, not everyone you say you miss, is going to be overjoyed, drop to their knees and blow you off. Sometimes, they don’t respond and you never hear from them ever again, so it’s ok for you to wish they get run over by a truck when that happens.

And because I’m an asshole, I generally disregard another person’s emotions with my insensitivity and closet love for trouble.

She: “I’m jealous… of the someone you are thinking of.”
Me: “You can start with Lydia, and when you’re done with her I’ll let you know the next person to be jealous of..”

I thought it was funny, she obviously didn’t. I guess I’m not that funny after all.