This morning I woke up to find a text that read "It was awesome laying next to you last night. Couldn't sleep. Don't hate me for leaving. xoxox."
The first emotion that I felt was disappointment. Not for the fact that I'd hooked up with a complete stranger, but because he didn't have the decency to leave a hand-written note before he'd slipped out. Instead, he sent a text at 4:30AM. Homeboy didn't even notice the dry erase board I keep by my door for the exact purpose of collecting trick autographs and witty goodbye messages. Some notes on the board say things like "John was here 1/19/2011" or "You're bed is so comfy -JEREMY XOXO." Standard dumb phrases that you joke about the next morning as they guy's collecting his clothes.
The dry erase board was my solution to the pile of ripped-out notebook pages that I'd collected over the years from various boyfriends. These were serious, heartfelt rambling about how much I was loved and how special I was. Some were just torn quarter-pages that said ":-*" or "Love you baby." Then after we'd break up, I take the notes along with other items in my break-up box and torch them. The paper notes I'd keep from the boys I'd seriously date would linger and call to me from inside my bedside cabinet until I'd set them afire. But the words on my dry erase board can disappear forever with a forceful swipe of my hand. Poof.
But for now I like my small collection. I was never emotionally attached to any of these people, so it doesn't bother me that their words are on display. The idea of the looseleaf love note is as romantic as it gets for me. But it's a temporary souvenir. It only serves a purpose in the context of the current relationship. After that, it becomes a relic of failure. Use my pink mini dry erase pen to tell me something dumb and unforgettable and please leave.
Meanwhile: I was still upset of the lazy text message when lunch was delivered this afternoon. I never expected to see him again, but I as least deserved the validation of a written excuse for leaving in the night. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe the hand written note in the morning to be the perfect currency for sleeping with someone random.
I didn't hear from him until later this evening. I asked him where'd he'd been all day and then joking wondered why he'd been out of touch. And surprising he gave an honest answer. He told me that before he'd gotten into bed with me he'd noticed a crumpled, green wrapper on the floor where the bedskirt meets the carpet. Apparently freshly torn condom wrappers don't scream modesty. He said he was "put off" and decided this wasn't the place for him to be. So he left after I feel asleep.
Embarrassed to the point of a bright red face, I drew the conversation to a close and hung up. "Well, that was fun while it lasted," I told myself. The wrapper itself was taken out of context. I'll just say that it wasn't for the obvious reason. Stop judging me.
My only silver lining with the thanksgiving that he hadn't noticed the pink, blue, and green notes from other men that littered my dry erase board as he fumbled out the doorway.
While I'm pretty sure it's possible to explain a used condom wrapper, I'm certain there's no talking your way out of your questionable behavior when a guy has taken the time to hand-write a note on your wall that says, "Thanks for the ride...and also the lift home in the morning."