Visnovsky to the Ducks.
So, you were dating this girl for 7 years. She was hot, took good care of herself and of you. Your friends all liked her. She could party but also did the domestic thing well. There were moments you thought it may be forever.
In one such moment, romance was in the air so you proposed, she accepted and you felt good about the decision. So did she. After a short while, doubt crept in. Do you really want to get married to this chick? She had become pretty expensive to keep around. You were on your way up while she could potentially become a ball and chain in a few years. Sure, she’s great now but you’re a long term thinker and you’re thinking this is not the right move.
So, you do the honorable thing. You break up with her by email, no goodbye kiss, no tears, no regrets, ice cold…ok, maybe a few regrets but you were confident you made the right choice.
Some of your friends thought you were nuts. No way, you told them. You knew what you were doing.
A year and a half goes by. You are in good shape. Chicks dig you. You are scoring. Near the top of your game and getting better. Best yet, you have rarely even thought about her. Last you heard, she moved to Canada or some crazy shit.
Then you find out that the girl you dated for 7 years, you know the one to whom you were engaged, yeah, she is back. She moved into the neighborhood down the street and is living with Skip Skipper. That’s right, the short, fat, balding insurance salesman that hit the lottery in 2007 but blew 4/5 of his winnings on hookers and some IPO that sold Kombucha drinks that has since gone under.
They apparently met on facebook one night, he asked her to move in with him and she accepted.
Now, you have to constantly see her in the arms of this insurance salesman, hair club for men member with pubic hair on his scalp, overbite and bright orange Porsche 911 with a license plate frame that reads “insurance salesmen are premium lovers.”
You really hate this son of the bitch. Every time you are out running with your dog, he is washing his car while wearing black sweatpants rolled up to his knees and a shirt that reaches to just above his belly button.
He’s crashed a few of your parties. He has tried hard to fit in and in 2007, he bought a lot of friends in the neighborhood. Since then, most people have seen him for what he is. He is hoping your old girl will get him back in the game and he doesn’t mind blowing his wad on her to keep her around for a few years.
So, what does she look like now?
Is she still hot or aged poorly?
If he buys her fake tits, you are going to be pissed off.
It’s not like you still have feelings for her. Well, maybe a little, but you are so beyond that now. You really don’t care. Christ, you just got a flash of what a public display of affection may look like. Gross.
Lubomir Visnovsky to the Ducks.
Categories: Surly & Scribe Humor