The French Girl

Today, I woke up in a panic. A small little rat is racing around my room. I thought for sure, that if I found a rat running around the room, I would never be THAT WOMAN. The woman who thrusts herself onto something with the goal of getting as far away from the little mouse as possible. But, it was me. I became in an instant the exact cliche that I feared I would eventually become.

The irony of this story is, once I actually woke up, and realized that there was actually no rodent racing around my room. It was in fact, an incoming text message. A text message from an old flame of mine. He's cute, successful, and tons of fun. It was a small heart break to give him up, but remember, the only four letter word in this town is "NEXT." Anyhow, this fantastic man (barring a few minor details that could be better), is now texting me again. HOW EXCITING.

Here I am at 5:30am basking myself, full of joy and happiness, that is until I actually read the text.

"I just met a beautiful French woman who looks just like you. I hope you are well...."

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

I don't care who you have met or are meeting. Or much less do I want to have the visual of you boning another me. There is no "other me." I'm the only one in this story. Tis' me who is the main character. No French hoochie mama, actress wanna be. Ok, perhaps, I'm overwelmed with one of the deadly sins... JEALOUSY. But hey let's face, who else could be as fabulous as me?

I would have prefered the rodent playing basking in my dirty laundry.