It’s 1:46 AM on a Thursday night

My phone screen is blinding me (Dark Mode is for people with savings accounts), and my fingers are firing off as fast as my drunken stupor will allow me. Thirteen tequila sunrises deep and my texts look like the slow-motion bullets from The Matrix. My desired message is going to my main but is short and concise; yet packs more depth than a John Green novel. This is it. This is my moment.

“you up?”

I hit the send button like it’s the Family Feud buzzer in a sudden death round (hard and fast).

I then let out an audible “Ahahaha” with the licking lips hand rub combo.

To set the mood for the next hour, I tell Alexa to play The 1975 and I rush to clean my room into a well……more suitable shape. I nab all my shoes and clothes off the ground, old water bottles, but leave a book and my Blu-ray copy of Moonlight on the floor to seem more intelligent than I let on. How could I forget?! I have got to make sure I don’t have a toilet ring stain (shout out Henlo Lizard member James for the red flag tip) and toss my old shower beer out. 

Listen, I can’t have my potential flames running off to their respective group chats exclaiming “THIS BITCH IS GRIMY!!!”. Because they are certainly going to; it is inevitable. And they’re right.

The group chats and best friends of the world know everything about you and your room, so you don’t want them to stop you from getting your nut soldier!

Wait, hold on, old reliable hasn’t responded. Fear strikes my heart as seconds turn into minutes with no response. I won’t wait, and I won’t get lazy. I’m going to be proactive and fire it off to the rest of my lineup. Some might be through unsaved numbers, others I only talk to on snapchat (you know who you are), and last but certainly not least the holy grail of “wyd rn” Tinder™. Fuck it I’ll even hit up the person who said they’d drive four hours to fuck me. This is my Hail Mary! A shot in the dark. I am on a mission.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m rooting for the home team. The original recipient of the “you up?” or the “Main”. That’s who I want to spend the night with. They’re reliable, unwavering in their ability for always “coming thru”. But not all nights are good nights, so as they say “best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry” emphasis on the “laid”. You need a backup…or backups in this case. 

Fortunately for me, my phone lights up and it’s the home team. I cover my room and bed with Febreze in excitement. Thank God they replied, because I was not ready to have the conversations with unsaved number 7787 involving “You never hit me up anymore”, “You only talk to me when its late”, “Can we finally talk about what’s going on here?”. 

Finally, I get the “here” reply and I gracefully make my way down the stairs to unlock the door. Now I just have to sneak them past my roommate, but that’s a whole other story.