☎️

It all starts out innocently. You meet me at a party, or a dinner, or a yoga studio, or you’re posted up next to me at a café. We hit it off. You get my iMessage number, which I pointedly call an iMessage number. “Oh, I’m not on social media,” I say, for the millionth time.

We start texting. You discover that I’m good at dank memes. I meet the moment. I don’t rush anything. You feel safe, comfortable.

We hang out again. It goes great. You think I’m weird, but in a fun way. At the end, I invite you to lunch. You come over, hang with my friends, have a great time. You realize hey, wait, this person is amazing. Lots of cool friends, excellent cook, cute dogs. The texts kick up a bit, once daily. More dank memes, vibey songs, celebrations of the good moments. Maybe you even end up on a group text or two.

And that’s when it happens. I drop it on you out of nowhere. The moment that always causes you to relitigate the entire friendship, the most shocking part of me: