Trifling With Death

Michelle Goff

A few weeks ago at a particularly bangin’ (is that what the youth say these days?) EC party, I met this breathtaking woman whose eyes reminded me of a summer’s day. Even in the low lights of the EC suite, which usually create the perfect environment for me, I could see them shining brighter than the other eyes around me.

So I decided to talk to her, and she seemed pretty interested in me. She really liked my dark cape and scythe and said I was just the right kind of edgy for her. So I gave her my number [(666) 666-6666 in case anyone wants it], and she said she’d hit me up.

So I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Mind you, I’m the type of guy who’s particularly good at waiting. But not for this girl. She like an angel sent from heaven (and mind you, I’ve seen plenty of those).

Finally, she hit me up. Just a simple text: “Wanna grab coffee?”

So I said: “Absolutely. Shall we meet at But Café?” (I particularly enjoy the soulless atmosphere of Butler. It’s the perfect place for me to hang out. I make a lot of friends, as most of the people there, especially during midterms season, call out my name once or twice a minute).

Anyway, she said: “Yeah sure.”

And I said, “Thursday?”

And she said, “I’m not free then, let me get back to you.”

And she still hasn’t. That was last Wednesday.

I need advice, what do I do?

 

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